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“Thanks,” I said when she gave me my change. I walked out of the building and headed to my new car.
My hands shook as I steered the small hatchback out of the parking lot, still unsure where I was heading. I wanted to get away from the dealership quickly before allowing myself to study the map. I didn’t want to cause any unnecessary suspicion of someone realizing I had no idea where I was, in case I hadn’t covered my tracks well enough. I had approximately two hundred dollars in cash left after the purchase of the car. Not much, but maybe I’d get lucky and find work fast enough.
After what felt like hours on the Interstate, I decided to make a change and turned onto Highway 89. If Troy was still alive, or even if he wasn’t, I didn’t want him—or anyone—to find me, so I figured the more turns I took, the better. After a while, I turned off the highway and onto a small winding road, which seemed to go on forever until I finally came to an intersection. Main Street lay before me, and I turned left, heading east. It was near nine o’clock in the morning. My side ached, and I was having difficulty breathing. I had a sick feeling my rib might be severely bruised, possibly broken, and exhaustion crept into my body as I drove through a small town.
It’s funny how hard adrenalin pumps the blood during moments of extreme fear and stress. Nevertheless, I smiled at the little sign on the right side of the street. “Welcome to Turtle Lake.”
The sign pictured silhouetted bodies, fishing, golfing, and hunting, and a turtle, of course. It looked like it just might be the friendliest place on earth. I smiled as I passed another sign with a picture of an enormous boxer turtle waving, with a bubble comment that said, “Population 573.”
I scanned the sides of the street, searching for a place to get a cup of coffee—someplace dark, preferably.
Nothing in that tiny town struck me as dark and private, though. I considered turning into an alley, pulling over to rest for a short while, maybe thirty minutes at the most.
The town struck me as one of those places one only goes to for vacation. There was a coffee shop on my right, but I didn’t feel comfortable going in there. This was a very small town, and it was too bright in there. Not the type of place I wanted to venture into the way I looked. I’d never be able to hide my eye in there.
I noticed a few little shops selling arts and crafts and other memorabilia, but they all appeared to be closed. Then while stopped at the single red light at the end of what looked like the main drag, I spotted a pub on the other side of an empty field that looked open. At least the front door was open.
I parked the car and caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. I tried to smooth out my long, tangled hair, but without a brush, it was hopeless. I got out of the car, and the sparkle of the speck of a diamond on my left hand caught my eye. Tugging the wedding ring off, I tossed it in the gutter. I’d be damned if I would live the rest of my life as some poor little battered wife, and I sure as hell didn’t intend ever to put that ring on again. Clutching my side, I hobbled through the door of the pub.
