identification, but he could probably even get you a fake ID if you’re desperate…”
I didn’t even want to know how she knew all that. With a nudge from my hand, I stopped her monologue. “Thanks. I’ll keep his number handy. You guys have been so understanding. Thanks for not being mad at me for misleading you about my name and stuff up front. Just, you know, try to keep it a secret until I can figure out how to make it all go away.”
“No problem there. I never tell secrets. And even if I did, no one would listen to me anyway, since I’m always talking so much. They barely hear a word I say as it is, unless it’s something really juicy like the time I found out about the college president…”
I smiled, letting her ramble on, tuning out the gossip as I focused on plans that would get me safely home to Brad.
The Sacramento station was hopping at four thirty in the afternoon. The cab driver stopped across the street in the dimming light. “Watch yourself in there. And don’t use the bathroom.”
I thanked him and stepped into the cool December air. On the way downtown, we’d passed a towering Christmas tree-the only indication it was time to deck the halls. I wrapped my black slicker close. No snow, just chilling, damp air so close to dusk.
I stepped toward blinking neon lights and pushed through the glass entry door. Bodies milled aimlessly through the overly bright interior. I couldn’t tell if they were homeless folks or passengers restless for a getaway driver. I sat on a plastic seat defaced with ink and carvings. A smell like ripe baby diapers permeated the air. I kept my nose tucked close to my collar. As the 4:50 departure time neared, more passengers trickled in, waiting for the only cross-country transportation that eluded Big Brother’s radar.
I adjusted the black flapper-style wig on my head and pushed my sunglasses a notch higher on my nose, hoping to avoid eye contact with my fellow travelers, who looked as directionless and despairing as I felt. I kept my luggage on my lap and both eyes peeled for trouble.
I’d planned the perfect escape-so far. I knew I couldn’t leave from the Del Gloria station without Denton or Detective Larson tracking me down. So I’d hired a cab to drive from the nearest big city and pick me up at the Del Gloria McDonald’s, then drop me here. With so many cab drivers in this city, what were the chances they’d question some guy named Ferdinand Olivares? And it had been easy enough walking into the fast-food restaurant as Alisha Braddock, and exiting the bathroom a few minutes later as the temporary me, Tasha Stewart. The name seemed both mysterious and boring, and hopefully would never have to be uttered before my arrival in Michigan.
A loudspeaker announced the bus’s arrival. Passengers filed past the driver, handing him their tickets and boarding.
I hovered at the back of the line, contemplating if I really wanted to be in an enclosed area with the fellow up ahead who kept mumbling to himself and waving his arms. Or the woman with the cleft chin and Adam’s apple.
“Watch your step,” the blue-jacketed driver muttered as I nudged by, passed him my ticket, and climbed the three stairs inside.
I took a seat as close to the driver as I could manage, whispered a prayer for protection, and geared up for a trip scheduled to last two days, ten hours, and forty minutes. If I didn’t jump out a window first.
Somehow I’d misread the itinerary. Had they really meant I’d be arriving at 4:30 in the morning Manistique, Michigan, time? The bus pulled away and I stood outside the twenty-four-hour gas station, wondering how I’d managed to mess that up.
The sign of a major hotel chain glowed in the distance. I started walking. Snow melted in my sneakers as I cut along US-2 toward shelter.
The clerk gave me a strange look when I told her I didn’t have a credit card. But I flipped enough bills on the counter to satisfy her need for a security deposit while I slept the next four hours. During my stay at Cliffhouse, Denton had provided a monthly stipend to cover my day-to-day expenses. My frugal nature meant I had enough set aside to make a run for it.
I stuck the plastic hotel key into its reader, got the green light, and pushed in. A shower before bed. The thought of sleeping in sheets contaminated with whatever germs I’d picked up over the last two and a half days didn’t sound appetizing.
While steam cleared the grime from my nose, I scrubbed with soap and a washcloth, hoping some plan would form before I turned the water off. Warmed through and squeaky clean, I slid beneath the sheets and pondered my next move. Sleep came before any strategy.
I woke up rested some time later.
A glance at the clock told me I’d slept past ten.
“Uhh.” I’d better get moving before the maids came knocking at my door. I stared at the phone, knowing I’d have to pick it up sooner or later if I were ever going to get to Port Silvan.
I grabbed the handset. Dial tone blared long and loud as I hesitated.
“If you’d like to make a call…,” the recorded voice kicked on.
I pressed the disconnect and waited. The phone dangled by its cord from my hand. Calling Brad was out of the question. Even if I knew where he was right now, I couldn’t call him. He’d be so mad at me for… something. Coming back before he gave me the green light. Leaving when I should have stayed. Something.
I swung the phone back and forth in a gentle motion. Who would be most understanding? My cousin Joel? My grandfather? Maybe I should call the snowplow guy. No one would suspect I’d contact him.
The handpiece banged my shin. I scooped it up and dialed my grandfather. My heart thumped like crazy as the phone rang.
He answered. “Hello?”
I almost burst into tears at the sound of his voice.
“Hello?” he said again.
I cleared my throat. “Um, hi. I heard you helped women who are in trouble.”
Silence at the other end.
Tears streamed down my face. I tried to keep my voice steady. “Can you come get me?”
“Who is this?” His voice held a note of panic.
I evened out my breathing before answering. “Ti-” I almost said my real name. “Tasha… Stewart.”
More silence. I prayed he knew from my voice that it was me.
“You’re at the Econolodge?”
I nodded, knowing he had caller ID. “Yes,” I spoke into the handset.
“I’ll be right there.”
I hung up the phone and broke into loud sobbing. My chest heaved and my back shook and tears and snot got everywhere. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my family. How much I missed my life. I was so grateful to be back. Puppa would help me work through the hurdles facing my return. I was so glad to be home.
A little while later at the sink, I splashed cold water over my face hoping to bring the redness and swelling down. I pulled the wig over my hair, packed my luggage, put on my sunglasses and slicker, and waited at the window, watching for Puppa through sheer curtains.
An eternity passed before his black truck arrived. The vehicle hesitated, finally pulling slowly down the row of motel units. I opened the door and stepped into the parking lot. His brake lights blinked red as he stopped and backed up. I pulled open the truck door and climbed into the passenger seat. I kept my eyes straight ahead so I wouldn’t look at him and start crying again.
“Thank you,” I whispered, afraid to say more.
The truck made a circle and headed west on US-2. The road curved toward the lake. Out in the harbor, waves washed over thick ice already covering the jetty. The lighthouse stood lonely and cold, bleeding red against gray water and white snow.
A sorrowful sense of deja vu crept over me as we passed places it seemed I’d only just left. But it had been nearly a year since I’d first returned home. Perhaps the scenery hadn’t changed much, with ice and snow and cold being the same from year to year. But the people would be different now, having lived through another year of experiences. I knew I was different.
Sneaking a glance toward my grandfather, I wondered if he’d be happy for the changes I’d made in my life or if he’d be angry at me for continuing to make the same mistakes over and over. Life could be so frustrating when the old adage “the more things change, the more they stay the same” came into play.
