Cort calls late Tuesday night. We haven\u2019t talked for a couple days. It\u2019s nice to hear his voice, even if he gets after me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhy\u2019d you stop?\u201d he demands. \u201cWhy haven\u2019t you made it to the coast yet?\u201d I tell him I\u2019m moving as quickly as I can, but he won\u2019t hear it. \u201cExcuses are like assholes, Addie. Everybody\u2019s got \u2018em and they all stink.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The distance is really wearing on me\u2014on us\u2014but that won\u2019t matter when I reach Westport. I\u2019ll wade into the ocean for the first time in my life, feel the wet sand between my toes and the sun on my bare shoulders, and all my worries will float out with the tide. Just like Cort says. He and his dad used to go to Westport on the Washington coast every summer. It\u2019s his favorite place. One look at the ocean, he tells me, and I\u2019ll never worry about another thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Momma warned me Cort was no good. He\u2019d steal my heart and break it just to prove he could. A real Walkaway Joe, she said, quoting Trisha Yearwood like the gospel. But he showed Momma, Trisha too. The boy might be stubborn and moody and impulsive as all hell, but a heartbreaker? Never. His heart\u2019s too big to break someone else\u2019s. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Once Cort settles down, I tell him about the hair salon where I\u2019ve been working the past two days. So much has happened since we last spoke. I talk about the different ladies who come in each day to chatter and joke and gossip about people who aren\u2019t there, and how I\u2019ll sweep up enough hair to fill the garbage can by the end of my shift. Mostly I talk about Suzanne, my new boss. How she\u2019s taken me in, given me a job and a place to stay. How she\u2019s the kindest person I\u2019ve met since leaving Casper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou tell her about me?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cA little.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat\u2019d you say?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat I\u2019ve got a handsome boyfriend with great hair and a huge\u2014”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAddie, come on\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI told her you\u2019re back home. And I miss you like crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNothing else? Didn\u2019t tell her my name, did you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cCourse not.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We end the call on a nice note, but with the lights out I start feeling anxious. What if Cort\u2019s right? Maybe the salon\u2019s just a distraction. Deep down, am I afraid to keep going? I tend to have the most troublesome thoughts right before I fall asleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I wake up in the morning to find my worries have slipped away in the night, and a cool, peaceful feeling flows through me like spring water. As my eyes adjust to the daylight, I can hear Cort whispering in my ear and feel his warm, smoky breath on my neck. You\u2019ve got this baby<\/em>, he says, I know you\u2019ll make it.<\/em> He always knows the right things to say, even when he isn\u2019t here to say them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cRinse first,\u201d Suzanne instructs me. \u201cDry hair\u2019s too brittle to cut. Chin down, Leanne.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mrs. Guzman tilts her head forward without taking her eyes off the Us Weekly<\/em> in her lap. Suzanne runs the comb down her damp black locks and shapes them into a single tress, pinching the bottom between her fingers. She snips three times with the styling scissors, twice up and once across, leaving a clean rectangular notch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHere\u2019s where it gets tricky. You\u2019ll use this center cut to guide the rest, but you can\u2019t cut the sides straight across. Otherwise her hair will look uneven when she stands up. You want the cuts to taper slightly towards the middle, like this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She snips once at a diagonal angle, then runs her comb down to catch the strays she missed. A few more cuts and each strand is perfectly aligned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI always do the left side first, but that\u2019s just me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan I cut the right side?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She smiles. \u201cHave you ever cut hair before, Audrey?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI used to cut my boyfriend\u2019s hair every week.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A little lie on my part. Cort would buzz most of it himself. I\u2019d clean up around his ears and the back of his neck. Even with the exaggeration, Suzanne still shakes her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSorry, hon, not until you\u2019re licensed by the state. Technically, you\u2019re not even supposed to hold the scissors. I could lose my <\/em>license.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t mind,\u201d Mrs. Guzman pipes up. \u201cShe has to learn somehow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cButt out, Leanne.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow do I get a license?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFirst you take some cosmetology classes. Then there\u2019s the state exam. A written test, plus you cut someone\u2019s hair in front of a judge.\u201d Suzanne\u2019s eyes drift to the floor. \u201cUnless the exam\u2019s changed since I got my license.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cProbably has,\u201d Mrs. Guzman chimes in. \u201cIt\u2019s been a long<\/em> time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suzanne sticks her tongue out at her in the mirror. \u201cAnyway, there\u2019s plenty for you to do here without the license. I can show you some techniques if you\u2019re still interested down the road.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I couldn\u2019t hide my grin if I tried. \u201cI would love that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLike I said, down the road. This is only your third day. You may change your mind about cutting hair if you spend enough time with Leanne.\u201d She pinches the hairs on Mrs. Guzman\u2019s right side. \u201cNow, make sure your tapers line up on both sides. Same angle, same length. Like this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suzanne makes me dinner for the third night in a row. Tuna casserole with peas. One of her specialties\u2014it\u2019ll put some meat on my bones, she says. I get the feeling she\u2019s kind of a hermit. No ring on her finger, no family photos on the wall, no evening phone calls or mention of plans with friends. Every night she\u2019s in bed with the light out by nine. Maybe she\u2019s just tired from working all day. Maybe she\u2019s lonely. Too early to tell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After dinner, I return to my room and decide to decorate a little. I didn\u2019t bother at first, thinking this place was just another quick stop on the way to Westport. But it\u2019s my third night here, going on four and probably more. I\u2019m sick of the emptiness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My first order of business is unpacking all the souvenirs I\u2019ve collected during my trip. Some are little trinkets I\u2019ve bought in gas stations and gift shops. A map of Wyoming, a coffee mug from Billings, Montana, an Idaho potato with googly eyes. But most of my souvenirs are from folks who have helped me in one way or another since I left Casper two weeks ago. There\u2019s my antique brass thimble from Roberta, the elderly widow outside Saddlestring who let me sleep in her spare trailer on that first lonesome night without Cort. She had a whole thimble collection. Said they\u2019d always brought her luck. The bottle-opener keychain is from Kirk, the college kid I hitched a ride with from Bozeman to Missoula. He refused to accept any gas money and<\/em> bought me lunch\u2014even if he hit on me a little, they were nice gestures. A salt shaker here, a hand towel there. Reminders that life is full of little kindnesses if you know where to look.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sometimes, when I\u2019m riding in someone\u2019s car, I\u2019ll take a random souvenir out of my duffle and hold it in my hand, smell it, brush it against my skin, get lost in the flurry of happy memories it brings. Makes long days on the road go by in a snap. My favorite souvenir so far is the peeling knife I got from George, the man I stayed with before coming here. I love its sharp, polished blade and smooth whalebone handle. It\u2019s the only souvenir I carry with me. Mostly for protection but I also like how it feels, the weight of it in my pocket, even though I\u2019ve nicked my fingers a couple times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t think I\u2019d find anyone as friendly and considerate as George during my trip. Then Suzanne came along, what Momma would call a happy accident. I left George\u2019s farmhouse on Monday morning before sunrise and walked along the two-lane highway, aiming west toward the mountains. I stuck my thumb out until a middle-aged couple picked me up. The man seemed nice enough but his wife kept narrowing her eyes at me in the side mirror. It was a quiet, uncomfortable ride and I asked to get out at the first town we reached. We weren\u2019t on the road more than two hours. They dropped me here in town.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wanted get some breakfast before hitting the highway again, so I wandered down the main street in search of a diner. That\u2019s when I literally bumped into Suzanne\u2014I was distracted by pretty dresses in the boutique windows and didn\u2019t see her sweeping the sidewalk in front of her salon. We exchanged an awkward greeting, got to talking, and before long I\u2019d spilled all my money troubles onto her. Even cried a little. She took pity on me. \u201cI know what you need,\u201d she said, eying my split ends. \u201cA good trim.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThank you, but like I said\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOn the house, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The salon was small, with a single sink and cutting station in the center of the room and a row of dryer chairs along the opposite wall. It was also empty\u2014she hadn\u2019t yet opened for the day. Suzanne and I continued our conversation while she cut my hair. I told her about my boyfriend (no names, of course), my trip, how I wasn\u2019t sure I\u2019d ever make it to Westport.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow old are you, Audrey?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNineteen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNineteen.\u201d She gently repeated the word. \u201cYou\u2019re hitchhiking by yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t mind. It\u2019s a nice way to meet people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLittle dangerous, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t care how<\/em> I get to the coast, long as I get there. My boyfriend\u2019s anxious for me to arrive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suzanne flipped the chair around to show me the cut. Much shorter than I usually wore my hair, but it looked lovely all the same.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHave you ever had a job before?\u201d she asked, brushing the stray clippings from my shoulders. \u201cTaking care of customers, I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSure,\u201d I lied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWant to work here for a few days? Until you get back on your feet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cReally?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019ll just be cleaning and ringing up customers. Nothing too glamorous.\u201d Her eyes met mine in the mirror. \u201cI was nineteen once. I know the drill.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s very nice, but I don\u2019t even have a place to stay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She smiled at my reflection. \u201cMaybe I can help with that too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Turned out Suzanne had a spare room over her garage that she occasionally rented to people passing through town, or locals with trouble at home who needed a place to crash for the night. The room was unoccupied at the moment and Suzanne said I could stay at no charge. Until I got back on my feet, she stressed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hopped out of the styling chair and immediately got to work. The job was easy. I\u2019d greet each customer when they came in and mark them off in the appointment book, then ring them up at the end. I\u2019d also sweep the floor and wipe down the cutting station between clients, and Suzanne would send me into the stockroom for bottles of shampoo or conditioner or whatever product she needed at a moment\u2019s notice. Every client was particular, and she knew each one\u2019s preferences by heart. The entire day whooshed by as ladies bustled in and out the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n By six-thirty, when the salon closed and I finished my final sweep-up, my arms and legs felt like rubber and I was dizzy from all the chemical smells. Suzanne took five twenties from the till and handed them to me. \u201cYou can\u2019t tell anyone<\/em> I\u2019m paying you like this,\u201d she said quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We left the salon and walked to Suzanne\u2019s house, conveniently located a couple blocks away, and she carried my duffle up the stairs for me. The room was cozy, shaped like a little shoebox, and furnished with a twin-size bed and an antique nightstand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSorry there isn\u2019t a TV,\u201d Suzanne said, setting my duffle on the floor. \u201cIt\u2019s been broken for years, and I don\u2019t have cable anyway. What do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI love it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She grinned. \u201cI\u2019ll come get you tomorrow morning at eight. Make sure you\u2019re ready to go. If I don\u2019t open by nine, there\u2019ll be hell\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was so happy I hugged her. She wasn\u2019t expecting it and I nearly took us both to the floor. We had a long laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Everything\u2019s happening so fast. One minute I\u2019m working for Suzanne until I\u2019m \u201cback on my feet,\u201d and a couple days later she\u2019s talking about showing me advanced cutting techniques \u201cdown the road.\u201d Maybe I\u2019ll end up staying in this little town a little longer than expected. Cort won\u2019t like that, but I\u2019ll cross that bridge when the time comes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For now, I just want to enjoy my souvenirs. Once they\u2019re arranged on the nightstand, I plop down on the mattress and look them over one by one, touching them, smiling at all the different memories they stir up. Now my little room feels more like home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n By Thursday, my fourth day, I\u2019ve gotten used to the salon\u2019s routine. The old birds stop by in the morning. Most are early risers who run errands first thing and nap after lunch. Ten to two is when the housewives visit. Husbands are at work, kids are at school, house is clean and empty\u2014they usually stay the longest. The women with jobs trickle in during the late afternoon, straight from work in their tailored suits and expensive shoes. They usually seem frazzled when they walk in, but then Suzanne works her magic and they\u2019ll look refreshed by the time they leave. Suzanne gets along with all of her clients, has nicknames and running jokes with each one. I bet she\u2019s one of the most popular women in this town.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Whenever someone I haven\u2019t met comes in, Suzanne makes sure to introduce us. Most ask where I\u2019m from, if I\u2019m married or have children, how I like working at the salon. Everybody\u2019s so nice. Well, almost everybody. I don\u2019t care for some of them. Take Mrs. Stroud. She comes in Thursday during one of the afternoon lulls. Maybe I\u2019m just cranky and sore in the knees by that time, but I take an immediate dislike as soon we lock eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAudrey,\u201d Suzanne says, \u201cthis is Marsha Stroud.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She holds out her hand like she expects me to kiss it. \u201cNice to meet you,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMm-hmm.\u201d She turns to Suzanne. \u201cI didn\u2019t know you were hiring, Suzie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI wasn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHave you ever<\/em> had anyone else working here? I\u2019m trying to remember if\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, but Audrey\u2019s working out great.\u201d Suzanne winks at me. \u201cWhat\u2019ll it be, Marsh?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe usual trim, bangs included. Use that lavender conditioner I love so much.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou got it.\u201d Suzanne turns to me. \u201cGo grab some Ken Rayburn from the back. Purple bottle, second shelf on the left.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I nod and head to the stockroom. The conditioner is exactly where Suzanne says, but as I turn to leave another bottle catches my eye. Tall and slender, colored in a cool leafy-green with cursive black letters reading: Dr. Pete\u2019s Summer Apple Shampoo<\/em>. I remove the bottle from the shelf and open the cap, pressing my nostrils against the plastic as I take a deep whiff. The smell is intoxicating. Not sweet like candy or spicy like cider, but crisp and earthy, like apples fresh off the trees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAudrey?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I whip around to find Suzanne standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, I\u2026sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMarsha doesn\u2019t like to wait.\u201d She walks over and eyes the bottle in my hand. \u201cWhat do you have there?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I show her the bottle. \u201cI was just smelling. It\u2019s lovely.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTake that one home if you want. I don\u2019t use it very often.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll pay for\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s fine, Audrey. Really.\u201d She takes the lavender conditioner and smirks at me on the way out. \u201cI\u2019ll leave you two alone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n I lie in bed that night, holding the bottle of Summer Apple Shampoo under my nose, and drift off thinking of George. It\u2019s been less than a week but I already miss him dearly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019d spent most of that hot Wednesday afternoon trying to hitch without any luck, and by the time I reached George\u2019s farmhouse I was thirsty, sweaty and covered with road dust. I must have looked like a wreck, but you wouldn\u2019t have known it from the way George smiled at me, his blue eyes twinkling. \u201cCome on inside,\u201d he said. \u201cThere\u2019s lemonade and sandwich fixin\u2019s in the fridge.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He sat at the table with me while I scarfed down my sandwich and gulped two glasses of lemonade. When I was finished, he cleared my dishes and asked what brought me to his doorstep. One mention of the h-word and he shook his head disapprovingly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYoung lady like you shouldn\u2019t be walking the road alone. Get yourself kilt that way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cEveryone\u2019s been nice so far.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo far only gets you so far, Amy. Where you headed?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWestport.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n George cringed. \u201cYou\u2019re still five hours out, at least, and a lot of that\u2019s interstate. Can\u2019t hitchhike on that.\u201d He poured himself a glass. \u201cYou in a hurry?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I shrugged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf you\u2019ve got a few days to spare, I could use another pair of hands with the harvest. Seems like you could use some extra scratch too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHarvest?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI got a hundred acres of Honeycrisp apples down the road. It\u2019s pickin\u2019 season.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A big smile drew across my face. I\u2019ve loved apples ever since I was little girl. Apple pie, applesauce, apple slices with cinnamon on top of my pancakes. I ate apples so often when I was a girl that Momma used to call me her little worm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n George went on. \u201cI don\u2019t like handing out money. Makes people lazy. But put in the work and I\u2019ll pay you fair, twenty-five dollars a bin. If you don\u2019t slack off you can fill five, six bins a day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI won\u2019t slack off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo,\u201d he grinned, \u201cdon\u2019t imagine you will.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Those days in the orchard were heavenly. Standing on the tall ladder with a pail slung over my shoulder, running my fingers through the leaves, listening for that little pop when the stems snapped off, feeling the morning sun on my face and chasing the shade when the afternoon heat set in. Most of the other workers didn\u2019t speak a lick of English but I made friends with a few se\u00f1oritas<\/em> who understood me well enough. One of them started bringing me homemade tamales for lunch. Muy flaco<\/em>, she\u2019d tease me, poking at my ribs. The tamales used to melt in my mouth. I could\u2019ve eaten a hundred and still wanted more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And that rich apple smell, sweet and juicy and a little sour. So thick it made the air feel heavier. In the late afternoons, right before we finished for the day, I\u2019d sneak beneath a shade tree and lean my head against the trunk to close my eyes and breathe in the delicious aroma.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I worked four days in the orchard and George paid me fair, as promised. It was so hard to say goodbye when Monday morning came. Now I have his apple-peeling knife to remember him by. Just feeling the whalebone between my fingers brings back so many vivid memories of that place. The weight of the pail, the brush of leaves against my skin, warm tamales melting on my tongue, the sad-eyed look on George\u2019s face when I said, \u201cThanks for everything,\u201d and walked out the farmhouse door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s funny, I would have stayed at George\u2019s place longer if I hadn\u2019t been so worried about Cort getting angry. But if I hadn\u2019t left at that very moment, I might not have met Suzanne. Now I\u2019m here in this room, with food in my stomach and money in my pocket. The whole trip\u2019s been like that, with each stop of the journey leading to the next destination. I wonder where I\u2019ll go next. Westport, perhaps, or another place along the way. No matter where, I\u2019ll end up there because I was here first. And I\u2019ll have Suzanne to thank, just like George and all the others before her. The world\u2019s so kind, sometimes I get sad just thinking about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWere you serious the other day about wanting to cut hair?\u201d Suzanne asks during our Friday morning walk to the salon. She\u2019s been oddly silent since knocking on my bedroom door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah.\u201d I shrug. \u201cI guess so.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLong days on your feet. Sometimes you miss lunch.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s alright. I can go awhile without eating.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She takes a deep breath. \u201cAudrey\u2026you like working for me so far?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOf course. Everything\u2019s been wonderful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m glad, because I think you\u2019re an exceptional employee. Everyone seems to like you. I\u2019d like to hire you on. Make it legal, no more paying you out of the till. And if you\u2019re truly interested in cutting hair, maybe I could sponsor you. Down the road, that is. Those cosmetology courses for your license can be expensive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019d do that for me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOf course.\u201d Her eyes drift away. \u201cThing is, I\u2019ve never had an employee before. Just me. I\u2019ve preferred it that way. But I\u2019ve been doing this job for seventeen years and lately I\u2019ve been feeling aches in my hands. Not every day, but often enough. It\u2019d be nice to have someone who could take care of the clients if I need to take some time off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know you\u2019re trying to get to Westport for your boyfriend. I don\u2019t want to interfere. But you seem really happy here.\u201d She flashes a stern glance. \u201cIf he really loves you, he\u2019ll come to you. Don\u2019t live your life on his terms.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n God, she sounds like Momma right now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe\u2019s a good man,\u201d I tell her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know, sweetie, I\u2019m not\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe loves me, Suzanne. More than anyone I\u2019ve ever known.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I didn\u2019t mean to upset you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan I think about it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOf course. Take all the time you need.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Friday turns out to be the busiest shift yet. The salon is packed from opening well into the late afternoon. A lot of the women don\u2019t even get their hair done, they only come in to socialize, and some drink wine and champagne. Like they\u2019re throwing themselves a little party. Suzanne says it\u2019s like this every week.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wish I could enjoy the festivities, but I\u2019m a mess the whole shift. Forgetting names, losing count at the register, fetching the wrong bottles from the stockroom. This whole dilemma is so distracting. I hate letting people down, and now\u2014no matter what I do\u2014I\u2019ll have to disappoint someone dear to me, either the man I love or this kind woman who\u2019s helped me so much. But deep down, there\u2019s only one choice that makes sense right now. Cort will have to understand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Around five, after most of the clients have cleared out, I take Suzanne aside in the back office, where no one can hear us. \u201cIf the offer\u2019s still open,\u201d I say, \u201cI\u2019d like to work here. At least for\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n This time, it\u2019s Suzanne hugging me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m so glad to hear it,\u201d she says after a long beat. \u201cI\u2019ll have you fill out the forms tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cForms?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou know, hiring forms. Speaking of which, could I borrow your license?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour driver\u2019s license. I need to scan it for my records.\u201d I must look freaked because she gives me an odd look. \u201cYou\u2019ve done this for your other jobs, haven\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cRight. I\u2026I left my license at home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo problem, just bring it tomorrow.\u201d She nods toward the entrance. \u201cGo keep an eye on the door. I need to do a few things back here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I nod obediently and walk out to the main room. Panic starts to squeeze me around the gut once I\u2019m alone. Suzanne never said anything to me about filling out forms. And she needs a driver\u2019s license too? I should have just told her I don\u2019t have a license, but now that I\u2019ve lied she might get suspicious. God, Cort\u2019s right. Sometimes my eyes are too big for my brain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The front door creaks open. I glance up, half-distracted, and nearly choke on air when a woman in a police uniform walks into the salon. Badge on her chest, gun at her side, handcuffs jangling on the back of her belt. Her hair is stunning, blond and wavy in a clean, shoulder-length cut. She looks equally surprised to see me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHello there.\u201d She has a softer voice than I expected. \u201cSuzanne around?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh\u2026yeah.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She smiles patiently. \u201cMind telling her I\u2019m here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Right on cue Suzanne emerges from the back office.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cRosie,\u201d she says, tapping her wristwatch. \u201cThought I had you for four-thirty.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know, I know. I got caught up on the highway. This drunk guy overcorrected and\u2026anyway, I\u2019m here now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suzanne walks over to the sink. \u201cAudrey, this is Deputy Loeb. Rosie to me. She\u2019s always<\/em> late. But she doesn\u2019t ticket my car so I let it slide.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJust because I haven\u2019t caught you yet.\u201d Deputy Loeb extends her hand and gives me a firm shake. \u201cNice to meet you, Audrey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLikewise.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNew in town?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYep. Just\u2026got here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s a nice place.\u201d She leans in with a smirk. \u201cI make sure of it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I don\u2019t take another full breath until Deputy Loeb\u2019s head is in the sink. Once she\u2019s in the chair, I start wiping off the counters with my head down, both eyes away from hers, but I can feel her watching me in the mirror. Maybe she recognizes me. Maybe she knows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n No, I can\u2019t afford to think like that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAddie,\u201d Cort snaps, \u201cdid you hear what I said?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHuh? Oh. Yeah, baby.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019d I say then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He\u2019s got me there. Then again, he\u2019s been looking to pick a fight for the last five minutes. It was only a matter of time until he found something to pounce on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s what I thought,\u201d he grumbles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSorry, I\u2019m distracted.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s on your mind?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou. And Suzanne.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cC\u2019mon, spill it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShe wants to hire me at the salon, which is great, but then she asked about my driver\u2019s license and told me I have to sign some forms for\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n There\u2019s a loud, hollow rattle on the other end. Cort slamming down his beer bottle on the coffee table. I\u2019d recognize it anywhere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDamn it, Addie. Use your head, girl. If they find out who you are, that\u2019s it. Understand?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat should I do then? She\u2019ll fire me if I don\u2019t go along.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat should you do<\/em>?\u201d He mutters something under his breath. \u201cHow about getting your skinny ass to Westport like we discussed? It\u2019s been almost two weeks since you left Casper. Could\u2019ve made it in two days if you tried.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Well, here goes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCort\u2026I wanna stay here longer. Save up some more, so I\u2019m not broke when I get to the coast. If Suzanne lets me stay, that is. I know it isn\u2019t what you want\u2026but it is<\/em> what I want.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cort doesn\u2019t reply at first but I can hear him snorting like a rodeo bull. I hate these moments, right before he tears into me, knowing I\u2019ll probably cry and yell at him and hate myself before the conversation\u2019s over. But then he surprises me and lowers his voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou like it there, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s peaceful. Everyone\u2019s so nice.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou said that already.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll make it to Westport. I just need a little more time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPromise?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBaby, what have I been saying?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s saying and there\u2019s doing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know<\/em>, Cort.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s times like this when I miss him the most. We used to fight back in Casper, too. When the hard part was over, he\u2019d lie down next to me on the bed, both arms draped over me, and all was forgiven. Now I have to imagine how that feels. Each day without him, his body becomes harder to remember.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAlright, here\u2019s what you do,\u201d he says, \u201cAnyone know your real name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNope. They call me Audrey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He chuckles softly. \u201cAudrey<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, shut up. You know I prefer using names that sound like mine. I\u2019ve already used Maddie, Allie and Amy. Besides, I <\/em>like Audrey. It\u2019s sophisticated.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhatever you say, madam. Look\u2026just fill out your forms with that name and make up the rest.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSeriously?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWell, you can\u2019t give your real name and address, can you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWon\u2019t she figure it out?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThose forms are just for taxes. Susan\u2019ll stick \u2018em in a drawer and forget about \u2018em \u2018til next spring, and by then you\u2019ll be\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHer name\u2019s Suzanne<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019d I say?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI hope you\u2019re right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGirl, I\u2019m always right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We say our goodbyes a moment later. Once the light\u2019s off, I start to worry again. Not about Suzanne or Cort or getting to Westport, nothing in particular, just a tingling, uneasy feeling that cuts through me like a full body shiver.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I reach for the nightstand and grab the first souvenir within reach. Momma\u2019s blue cotton apron. It still smells like flour and cinnamon. I hold the cloth to my face and breathe in deeply. Suddenly I\u2019m five years old, sitting on the floor of the kitchen, playing with my favorite ragdoll while she bakes apple cobbler. Then it\u2019s Thanksgiving\u2014I\u2019m big enough to help her unload the turkey from the oven. Then it\u2019s my last day at home, right before I left town with Cort. She was in the kitchen when we walked in. How she held me close, warm tears rolling down. \u201cAddie,\u201d she whispered, \u201cI\u2019m begging you. Don\u2019t<\/em> do this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Next thing I know I\u2019m sobbing into my pillow. I try not to let my mind drift toward the unhappy times. That\u2019s not what the souvenirs are for. But sometimes I just can\u2019t help it. Sad memories are as much a part of this journey as the ones that make me smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n Saturday is a half-day shift and Suzanne opens the salon an hour later than usual, which means I get to sleep in a bit. I would get to sleep in, that is, if I hadn\u2019t been lying awake in bed since four, staring at the popcorn bubbles on the ceiling, squeezing my fists to keep from crying more. One of those<\/em> mornings. Even a ten-minute shower can\u2019t set me straight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suzanne knocks on the door at eight and gives me a worried head tilt when I open it. I guess my mascara isn\u2019t doing its job.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou alright, hon?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDidn\u2019t sleep well.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf you want to stay home, I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s fine,\u201d I say. \u201cI\u2019ll be fine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGot your license?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cActually\u2026I looked last night and\u2026I think I lost it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019ve lost your driver\u2019s license?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMust\u2019ve slipped out somewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat about a birth certificate or a passport\u2014?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She rolls her eyes. \u201cAlright, well\u2026come on, we\u2019ll figure it out at the salon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suzanne keeps casting concerned glances at me during our walk down the street, but I ignore her, keeping my eyes pointed in the other direction. I\u2019m too tired for another heart-to-heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She prints off the hiring forms as soon as we get to the salon, then stands over me while I fill them out. First, I write the name. Audrey\u2026George. I actually like that. Sounds a lot nicer than Addie Bucknell, anyway. The address is easy\u2014I ask to use Suzanne\u2019s, and she doesn\u2019t object. For my Social and telephone number I write random digits, but I use my real birthday. The same day and month, that is, with two years added, since I\u2019ve been telling Suzanne I\u2019m nineteen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Most of my Saturday shift is fairly smooth. The appointment schedule is lighter, which means the clients stay in the chair longer and there\u2019s less hair to sweep, fewer trips to the stockroom. I start to perk up at the halfway mark, remembering I won\u2019t have to work again until Monday morning. What to do with myself on my day and a half off? I could take Suzanne out for lunch tomorrow at one of the cafes, my treat, and I\u2019ve got enough saved up to buy one of those pretty boutique dresses\u2014just one, since I\u2019m saving for other things. I daydream about the possibilities while the last two hours tick by on the wall clock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then, with less than thirty minutes to go, she <\/em>walks in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAudrey.\u201d Mrs. Stroud sounds constipated. \u201cYou\u2019re still here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAfternoon, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, I suppose it is<\/em> the afternoon. Where\u2019s Suzanne? I\u2019m wondering if she can squeeze me in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I nod toward the office. Suzanne\u2019s been back there since the last client left. \u201cI\u2019m sure she\u2019ll be out shortly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mrs. Stroud hangs her coat on the rack and sits in the chair next to the sink. I glance over and catch her narrowing both eyes at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhere are you from, Audrey?\u201d she finally asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHere and there. No place in particular.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou look very<\/em> familiar.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I squeeze the broom handle to keep my hands from shaking. \u201cNot sure where you would\u2019ve seen me. I\u2019m new in town.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis may be a strange question, but have you ever been on television?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s uncanny. I swear I\u2019ve seen you, I just\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou haven\u2019t<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSorry?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Easy, girl. I keep my eyes on the broom, too rattled at first to realize I\u2019m sweeping a clean spot. \u201cI mean\u2026people always tell me that. I guess I have one of those faces.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suzanne enters the room from the back office and walks to the sink, smiling politely at Mrs. Stroud. \u201cAudrey,\u201d she says quietly. \u201cGo get me some Ken Rayburn.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n There\u2019s a strange distance in her voice, like she\u2019s talking in her sleep, and I don\u2019t like the way her eyes dig into me when she walks by. I nod and head toward the stockroom, but stop cold when Mrs. Stroud pipes up again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSuzie, doesn\u2019t Audrey look like somebody? I swear I\u2019ve seen her on television.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suzanne shrugs. \u201cBeats me, Marsh. I don\u2019t have a TV.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mrs. Stroud cranes her neck toward me. \u201cWhat\u2019s your last name, Audrey? Maybe that will jog my memory.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cUm\u2026George.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAudrey George<\/em>. Audrey<\/em> George.\u201d Mrs. Stroud says my name a few times, enunciating different syllables. \u201cWere you ever\u2014?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I throw the broom to the floor. The handle rattles loudly against the tiles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019ve never seen me before, alright?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her head shoots up from the sink. \u201cExcuse<\/em> me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve never been on TV. Just shut up about it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAudrey,\u201d Suzanne snaps. \u201cGo to the office.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut I\u2014\u201d She thrusts a trembling finger toward the door. \u201cFine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I skulk to the back of the room, glancing at the mirror long enough to see the satisfied smile on Mrs. Stroud\u2019s face as she leans back over the sink. What I wouldn\u2019t give to walk over and hold her head underwater, just for a minute or two. Then we\u2019ll see who\u2019s smiling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n The salon is empty when Suzanne finishes with Mrs. Stroud, so she locks the door and flips the window sign to CLOSED. I\u2019ve been peeking at her through the cracked office door since she sent me back here. When she finally walks in, I sit up straight in my chair and pretend to be reading a catalog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAudrey,\u201d she says, closing the door behind her, \u201cyou cannot talk to my<\/em> clients like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut she\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know, Marsha\u2019s a pill. She\u2019s also a regular who tips well. Thankfully, I\u2019m the only place in town that carries her lavender conditioner.\u201d She takes a seat in the chair opposite me and takes a deep breath. \u201cYou won\u2019t be able to work here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll apologize to her, it\u2019s\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo\u2026these forms you gave me. Your Social Security Number isn\u2019t registered, the phone number you gave is out of service. Then there\u2019s the missing license. Is your name really Audrey George?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I swallow hard. The fluorescent lights feel ten times brighter. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t lie, Suzanne.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAre you\u2026\u201d She trails off, searching for the right words. \u201cHoney, are you in trouble?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know it isn\u2019t my business, but does this have to do with your boyfriend? If he\u2019s endangering you, then I can help. But you need to be straight with me about who you are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI didn\u2019t lie. Honest.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suzanne\u2019s lower lip quivers but she doesn\u2019t cry. I bet she never does.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAlright,\u201d she says gently. \u201cYou can stay at the house tonight, but I want you out in the morning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suzanne snatches her coat and purse from the desk, and a moment later I follow her out of the office. Our walk back to the house is torture. Single-file down the sidewalk, not a word or a glance between us. I go straight to my room when we get home but I\u2019m too tired to start packing right away so I just lie down on the bed and close my eyes. I\u2019m about to drift off when Cort calls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou sound tired,\u201d he tells me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI didn\u2019t sleep last night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSorry, babe. I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSuzanne fired me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cort goes quiet for a moment. \u201cYou don\u2019t have a job anymore?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNope. Want to guess why?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow would\u2014?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThose stupid forms. You said she wouldn\u2019t even look at them. She ran a check on me today<\/em>, Cort. Now she knows I lied about everything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDoes this mean you\u2019re leaving soon?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n There isn\u2019t a trace of surprise in his voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou knew this would happen?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow was else was I supposed to get you to leave? You\u2019re talking about staying in that dumpy little town, cutting hair for the rest of your life.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow dare you. I was\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow dare I<\/em>? You spoiled little bitch. You left me on the side of the road, remember?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat was I supposed to do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI told you what to do, where to go. But you didn\u2019t listen. Now here we are. Hope you\u2019re happy, Addie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He ends the call without another word. No goodbye. No I love you. No sleep tight, honey. Probably just as well. I won\u2019t sleep much tonight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I can hear Suzanne puttering around in the dining room while I\u2019m packing the souvenirs into my duffle. She finally retires to her room around ten. I wait a few more minutes before sneaking down to the living room, where she hangs her keys on a little hook near the door. As quietly as I can, I remove the salon key from her ring and slip outside into the cool, starry summer night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With the duffle over my shoulder, I start down the main block. One last stop before I hit the highway, and then I\u2019ll be on my way to Westport. Again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot yet,\u201d Cort told me. \u201cKeep going.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My hands were too shaky to steer straight, and my tears were so thick I could barely see out the windshield. If any other vehicles had been on the road, we might have crashed. But we\u2019d been off the highway for more than twenty minutes, and there wasn\u2019t another pair of headlights or taillights in sight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJust a little\u2026further.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe gotta stop,\u201d I sobbed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Blood had spread from the hole in Cort\u2019s stomach across the front of his T-shirt. His summer tan had drained to an ashy grey, and every time he breathed I heard a gurgle in the back of his throat. His eyes were bluer than ever, like they knew something I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was my fault. Cort told me to watch the car\u2019s owner while he loaded our stuff inside. Keep the gun on him, Cort said. Shoot him if he moves. It was a windmill in the distance. Only caught my eye for a few seconds, those huge blades turning in the breeze. By the time I looked back the man already had his pistol out, aiming at Cort. He squeezed his trigger before I could squeeze mine. He didn\u2019t miss. Neither did I. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Cort rolled down his window and threw his gun into the brush.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d I asked, half-shrieking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLose the car too. Don\u2019t drive it after today.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGet where you need to and leave it behind.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The blood pooled on the seat beneath him, filling the space around his jeans. With one eye on the road, I reached into my duffle between the seats and pulled out a blouse. \u201cHere.\u201d I shoved it against Cort\u2019s chest. \u201cPut pressure on it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAddie, stop.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo as I say!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cStop the car.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t understand. The scenery hadn\u2019t changed in ten miles. Same cottonwoods and yellow grass, same clouds casting puffy shadows on the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHere?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHelp me back in that grass.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCort, you need\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAddie, I\u2019m just asking for this one thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hammered the brakes and killed the engine. Cort slumped out as soon as I opened the passenger door, held in place with his seatbelt. I unbuckled it and eased him down to the dirt. He could walk with one arm around my shoulder, at least for the first few yards off the road. Once we entered the grass, he started to stumble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJust up ahead,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cUp ahead where<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019ll be there soon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The grass grew taller the further we moved. Soon the blades were brushing my shoulders and scratching my neck. The sun broke through the clouds and heat rose from the soil. The sweat made his arms slip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI can\u2019t go much further, baby,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He slipped his arm from my shoulder and tumbled to the dirt. I rolled him onto his back but he was too heavy for me to lift. The tears made me choke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCort, you need to get up<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFeels nice.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI can\u2019t just leave you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then he whispered something I couldn\u2019t quite hear. It sounded like, \u201cwhisper.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhisper? What do you\u2014?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He reached up and grabbed my arm, his hand clenching tightly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo,\u201d he said, blood filling his mouth. \u201cWestport<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWestport?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He smiled and let go, leaving a bloody ring on my forearm, then laid his head down and closed his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n I unlock the salon door and glance in both directions before entering. There isn\u2019t a single person in sight. Apart from a bar lit up around the corner, all of the neighboring buildings are dark. Even on Saturday night, this town is sleepy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Using the countertop to guide me through the darkness, I make my way to the cash register. Suzanne stashes most of the money in her office safe but she keeps a couple hundred in the register, ready to go for the next shift. Between this and the money I\u2019ve made this week, plus what\u2019s left of my apple-picking earnings, I\u2019ll be in decent shape when I reach Westport. Assuming I get there soon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The register clangs open, and I slip all the twenties and fives into my pocket. I sling the duffle over my shoulder and take one final look around the salon, breathing in the shampoo and conditioner smells one last time. Then I turn around and my breath catches when I see Suzanne standing in the open doorway. Her face materializes as the lights flicker on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou know,\u201d she says quietly, \u201cI thought you were the answer to my prayers at first. But this makes more sense.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSuzanne, I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t bother. The police are on their way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI heard you leave through the front door.\u201d She sighs. \u201cI was hoping you\u2019d head straight for the highway, but I had a funny feeling. Now here we are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She reaches into her purse and removes something shiny. My heart does somersaults when I realize it\u2019s a handgun. She waves the muzzle toward the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCome on, Audrey. Or whatever your name is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou have a gun?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m a single, middle-aged woman. Of course I own a gun.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I nod and walk to the door. She keeps her eyes on me, narrowing them with each step that brings me closer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cStop there. Turn around, hands on the counter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSuzanne, I\u2019m begging you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t want to hear it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s my boyfriend. You can\u2019t let him find me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her lips tremble. \u201cDo as I say.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe\u2019ll kill me, he said so. I\u2026I had to get away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell me that?\u201d The gun rattles in her hands. \u201cI would have given you the money if\u2026you looked me in the eye<\/em>, Audrey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI was so scared.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m not asking again. Turn around.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s no use. I can\u2019t talk my way out of this one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHere,\u201d I say, reaching into my pocket, \u201chere, take the money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou think I care about that now?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSeriously.\u201d I take a step closer. \u201cI don\u2019t want it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBack up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m so sorry Suzanne.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI told you, back\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I pull out the peeling knife and sweep it through the air, one quick motion. The blade\u2019s so sharp, it barely staggers when it passes through the soft skin around Suzanne\u2019s throat. Her eyes narrow at as she brings both hands to her neck, dropping the gun. Then the blood comes, oozing between the gaps in her fingers. I\u2019m not quick enough to catch her as she falls to the floor, so I crouch down and hold her head up with both hands. The blood runs warm against my skin. She opens her mouth but can\u2019t speak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSshhhhhh. It\u2019s alright,\u201d I tell her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I squeeze strands of her hair in my hands, cradling her head in place while her body shakes. Her eyes are still on me. Wide, brimming with tears, furious and terrified. I gently set her head on the floor. As her breaths fall short, I reach down and squeeze her hand. For whatever reason, she squeezes back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThanks for everything,\u201d I say softly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Snatching up the gun and my duffle, I run to the door but I\u2019ve waited too long. The police cruiser turns the corner as I step outside. I slip the gun into the back waistband of my jeans as the car pulls up to the curb. Deputy Loeb quickly gets out. Seeing the blood on me, she races over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAudrey?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s Suzanne,\u201d I wail. \u201cShe\u2019s inside.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t know. I heard a struggle, and then a man ran out\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The deputy brushes past me and I follow her back into the salon. She kneels over Suzanne, checking for a pulse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTowel,\u201d she snaps. \u201cGet me a towel.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I toss her a hand towel from the cutting station. As she presses the cloth against Suzanne\u2019s throat, I step back and stand behind her, over her left shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSuzanne?\u201d the deputy says. \u201cCan you hear me, honey?\u201d She cranes her neck toward me. \u201cCall 911.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t have a phone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I slip Suzanne\u2019s gun out of my waistline.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cRun out to my cruiser and get the handheld radio. It\u2019s on the passenger seat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I level the muzzle of the gun with the back of Deputy Loeb\u2019s skull. The gun feels heavy and cold in my hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAudrey, now<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s a pity. The deputy really does have lovely hair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n #<\/p>\n\n\n\n Authorities are still searching for Gleason and Bucknell, who were last seen together more than two weeks ago outside Casper, Wyoming. Sheriff Kilmer told reporters on Friday he believes Gleason has most likely fled to another state, or possibly Canada. The sheriff also stressed that the search for Bucknell is still underway, despite no\u2014<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHere,\u201d Gary says, cutting to static as he flips the radio dial, \u201clet\u2019s have some music.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Gary has a deep voice like an opera singer and his curly red beard spreads down to his collar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat was that?\u201d I ask. \u201cThe story we were just listening to?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat?\u201d He arches an eyebrow at me. \u201cYou haven\u2019t heard? Been all over the news.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t watch the news. It makes me sad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Gary laughs heartily. \u201cI get that. Nah, there\u2019s just this crazy guy out there. He was datin\u2019 some high school girl out in Wyomin\u2019. Her mother told her she couldn\u2019t go out with him. So he goes to their house, shoots the mother dead, kidnaps the girlfriend. Then he\u2026\u201d He trails off. \u201cYou sure you wanna hear this? It\u2019s as sad a story as you\u2019ll hear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I nod. It sounds strange, listening to someone else tell it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnyway, he shoots some fella on the side of the road and steals his car. Then they\u2019re sayin\u2019 he drove to some farmhouse, killed the old lady who lived there and left the car in her barn. That\u2019s all they know. No one\u2019s seen him for a couple weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat about the girl?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAin\u2019t found her, either. Hope she\u2019s alright, but with\u2026yeah, I hope she\u2019s alright. I\u2019ll leave it at that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My hands still shake a little, but they get steadier with each passing milepost. After leaving the salon, I changed my clothes on the side of the road and found a creek bed to wash the blood off my skin. I must\u2019ve done a decent job because Gary hasn\u2019t mentioned anything about my appearance since he picked me up. The darkness helps. Sunrise could change everything, but I\u2019ll cross that bridge when the time comes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat kind\u2019a music you like?\u201d Gary asks. \u201cOldies?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He turns the dial and the static fades into the final verses of \u2018Here Comes the Sun.\u2019 One of Cort\u2019s favorites. I\u2019d know it anywhere. I can practically hear him singing the refrain, strumming along on that cheap guitar his dad gave him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan I ask you something, Ashley?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s a girl like you doin\u2019 hitchin\u2019 on the highway late at night?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve got places to be.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhere you headed?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWestport. Ever been?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSure, a few times. Pretty nice this time of year.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy boyfriend\u2019s expecting me. It\u2019s his favorite place.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe\u2019s got good taste.\u201d He drums his hands on the steering wheel, following the beat. \u201c\u2018Fraid I can\u2019t take you the whole way. I\u2019m stoppin\u2019 in Tacoma, where my girls are. But it won\u2019t be far from there. Might even be a bus if you can wait \u2018til mornin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s fine. I\u2019ll get there when I get there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Gary turns down the radio. \u201cSleep if you\u2019re tired, I don\u2019t mind.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThanks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I reach for the duffle between my legs and open the flap. On top of the clothes and other souvenirs rests my bottle of Dr. Pete\u2019s Summer Apple Shampoo. I take it out of the bag, pop up the cap and bring it close to my nose, inhaling as deeply as I can. One whiff and the memories come racing back. Bumping into Suzanne on the sidewalk, listening to water splash in the rinsing sink, sweeping up all that hair, standing in the stockroom while the smells overpower me. And Suzanne, poor, sweet, Suzanne. I\u2019ll miss that salon. So many lovely things to remember.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Gary nods at the bottle. \u201cWhat do you have there?\u201d he asks me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA souvenir I picked up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSouvenir? Just a bottle of shampoo, ain\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wish he hadn\u2019t said that. It really ruined the moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cort calls late Tuesday night. We haven\u2019t talked for a couple days. It\u2019s nice to hear his voice, even if he gets after me. \u201cWhy\u2019d you stop?\u201d he demands. \u201cWhy haven\u2019t you made it to the coast yet?\u201d I tell him I\u2019m moving as quickly as I can, but he won\u2019t hear it. \u201cExcuses are … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-190","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-issue-3-november-2020"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blackworksmag.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/190","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blackworksmag.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blackworksmag.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blackworksmag.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blackworksmag.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=190"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/blackworksmag.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/190\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":191,"href":"https:\/\/blackworksmag.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/190\/revisions\/191"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blackworksmag.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=190"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blackworksmag.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=190"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blackworksmag.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=190"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
Ben Gamblin is the pen name of a professional writer who publishes crime and mystery fiction. He lives in Tacoma, WA, with his partner and several critters of various sizes.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"