Gabby and her daughters.
Cranky old Ruby, surly Jose, kind Marti.
And Sara, with sapphire eyes like Cillian’s.
I’ll never see any of them again.
16
Esme
I turn off the lights and head downstairs. My only plan is to get out of this town as fast as possible. I don’t even know where I’m headed.
I start walking towards the bus stop. It’s about a twenty-minute walk and in my condition, I know it’ll take me longer.
But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to waste money on a cab.
The streets have emptied out. Only a handful people walking around, a few already drunk after a long day of work.
This town is filled with sad outcasts like me. Day drinking and desperation follows them around like homeless animals.
I try not to judge. After all, I’m a homeless animal myself at the moment.
I start cramping halfway to the bus station, so I’m forced to stop and sit at a park bench to wince and stretch out my legs as best as I can.
But the second I sink onto the bench, the voice starts up.
You’re weak.
You’re pathetic.
You’re naïve. Can’t even save your own baby.
Lately, my head is filled with thoughts like these. Always in Papa’s voice. Like he lives in my head and lurks. A parasite. A virus. A taunting spirit that chimes in whenever I find a moment of silence.
I force myself to stand. The cramps start up again with a vengeance, but this time, I ignore them.
Fuck that voice. Fuck those thoughts.
I limp down the street with a scowl on my face and my hand white-knuckling the straps of the duffel bag to get through the pain.
When I finally turn into the bus station, I’m panting and sweating, but I push myself forward.
The man sitting behind the clerk counter is an older African-American man with an impressive white mustache.
“Good evening, sir,” I say quietly. “Can I have one of the bus schedules please?”
His eyes rake over me through the Plexi-glass. I wait patiently for him to finish his once-over.
“Where you headed, hon?” he asks.
“Um, I don’t know,” I admit. “That’s why I need the bus schedule.”
His expression doesn’t change so much as it softens. Then he pulls out a leaflet and hands it to me.
It’s a maze of weaving colored lines. There are so many bus routes that I know I won’t be able to decide where I’m going by just picking blindly.
“Excuse me a minute,” I tell him, moving to one of the benches a few yards away.
I sit down, relieved to be off my feet even for a few minutes. Then I comb through the bus schedules.
It takes me a minute, especially with the adrenaline still pumping in my system, but eventually I figure out that there are three different buses heading to three different towns in the next hour.
I’ve heard of none of these towns. Somehow, that leaves me feeling deflated. I realize how ill-equipped I am to make this choice at all.
The first bus leaving is in twenty minutes, but its destination is too close for my liking. I cross it off and move on to the second bus. Its destination is two hours away, a little better but it still doesn’t sit right with me for reasons I can’t explain.
But then, none of this does.
“Need some help?”
I look up to see the man who’d handed me the bus schedule. He sits down next to me, glancing at my duffel bag.
“There’s only one reason a young girl such as yourself would leave town in the night without a plan,” he tells me. I freeze instantly as he finishes, “You’ve run into a spot of trouble.”
I glance at his face, searching for a threat. But I can see only concern and perhaps a desire to help.
I give him a nervous smile and look back down at the bus schedule.
“It’s more like trouble seems to run into me,” I tell him.
He chuckles and sighs. “That’s true for some people,” he agrees. “Forgive me for saying this, but you’re in no condition to be travelling.”
I rest my hands on my huge belly and I feel an answering kick. A strong kick.
I bite down on my tongue to keep the emotion at bay.
“I’d rather not be traveling at all,” I concede. “But I don’t really have a choice.”
“I thought as much. Are you running from the father?” he asks bluntly.
I glance at him, my jaw tight. But I say nothing.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he tells me. “I know this isn’t my place and you probably don’t want an old man’s advice anyhow. But I tried running once. It’s no way to live.”
His words are hitting a little too close to home. I really don’t need to doubt my next move, but I can’t stop him, either.
Or maybe I just don’t want to.
“You gotta stand your ground and fight back,” he continues. “That’s the only way to do it.”
I sigh bitterly. “My situation is complicated.”
“It always seems that way,” he says. “Especially when you’re young. How old are you—nineteen, twenty?”
“Almost twenty-three.”
He waves a hand. “Too young to run.”
“You don’t know what I’m running from.”
“Perhaps.” He falls silent.
“Can you help me?” I ask, once the silence has stretched out long enough for me to know that staying is really not an option. “I need a quiet town. Somewhere I can have my baby.”
“How long are you planning on staying?” he asks.
“I don’t know. A few months, maybe longer,” I answer. “I just need somewhere quiet and safe.”
“There aren’t many places like that for a young single mother,” he tells me. “But if that’s what you’re looking for, take this bus.”
He points to the red line bus that leaves in an hour and ten minutes.
“It is not the most glamorous place in the world,” he admits. “But there are a few women’s shelters there. They’ll take you in, baby and all.”
“Women’s shelters,” I repeat.
“It’s the only place I can think of that doesn’t require paying rent.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I wish desperately
