Chapter 4
Carrie
I stared at the red and blue lights in the rear-view mirror of the small, used car I’d just purchased not even three hours ago as my stomach tightened with fear. My hands were at ten and two on the steering wheel, clutching it for dear life as my chest heaved, panic settling in and getting comfortable.
Everything had gone smoothly up until this point.
The ride to the airport went smooth, and I’d purchased a one-way ticket for one of the only two flights going out that night— thank God my card didn’t decline, which meant that no one —not even my friends in St. Louis knew about my secret bank account. This was surprising; some of those friends were law enforcement. The plane ride was uneventful, giving me time to nap. Once I landed in Portland and stepped out into the terminal, I felt a sense of freedom I’d never felt before.
The weight on my chest seemed lighter, despite the horrors of my past chasing me. I knew I couldn’t escape them, at least not completely.
I still chose to focus on the sense of freedom as I sat in the airport coffeehouse, sipping a piping hot lavender latte, my first one in over a year, while I mapped out a plan. The first thing I needed was a car, and before my escape, I’d made a rough budget of money I could spend. I found a used car dealership online, picked out a cute, lightly-used sedan, and got a taxi to the bank. After withdrawing the money for the car, I headed for the car dealership and paid for the little navy-blue sedan in cash. I had thirty days to register it, which was plenty of time. I filled up with gas, got some food, and headed northwest.
I’d been driving for half an hour when I stopped to use the restroom in St. Helen and spotted an ad for a restaurant in beautiful Astoria, Oregon.
The name of the town caught my eye, and without a second thought, I wanted to see it.
Now, here I was, on the side of the road with the sheriff behind me, Astoria just ten minutes ahead of me.
I let out a groan when I saw the driver’s side door open and a tall, young man in uniform step out. His head tilted as he eyed my temporary tags, making his way up to my window.
“Stay cool, Carrie,” I told myself as I rolled the window down, plastering on the best fake smile I could manage. “Hello, officer.”
He looked younger than me by a year or two, had a mustache, and brown eyes. “Do you know why I pulled you over today, ma’am?” he asked, all business.
I swallowed the lump of terror in my throat. “I—I’m sorry. I really don’t, sir,” I admitted. I’d been admiring the beauty of this state for the majority of the drive. I must’ve not been paying attention to the speed limit signs as I passed them.
He held my eyes, and when I couldn’t take it any longer, I looked out straight ahead, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel even more—any harder, and I was sure to break the dang thing.
“You were going sixty in a forty, ma’am,” the officer told me.
My eyes widened, and I snapped my head back to him. “I was?” I gasped.
He said nothing, tilting his head to the side.
“I-I am s-so sorry,” I stammered, shaking my head as I released the steering wheel, bringing my hands to my chest. “Please, write me a ticket. I had no idea I was going that fast. I just—” I cut myself off as the last twenty-four hours finally hit me.
I’d been running on auto-pilot, so desperate to taste that freedom I felt when I landed in Portland. My throat thickened as the emotional wall of trauma slammed into me.
“I—I really am sorry,” I continued, eyes stinging now as I sucked in a choppy breath. “I just—I was just so ready…” I trailed off as a broken sob left me, the tears I didn’t know I could form falling down my cheeks.
What the heck was wrong with me?
There wasn’t enough time in the history of the world to answer that question.
My bottom lip trembled as I looked back up at him through my tears.
I expected a stern face and no bullshit attitude. It was what I deserved, after all. Instead, I found the sheriff’s eyes had gone soft, his mouth turned down into a frown. He put his hands on his hips, looking back to his car as he sighed. “Dammit,” he muttered as I sniffled.
When he looked back at me, he bent down, getting eye level with me. “What were you ready for?” he asked, his voice smooth and soft.
“What?” I asked, my breathing hitching as hiccups threatened to take over.
“You were saying that you were just ready for something before you started crying, sweetheart. What was it?”
I shook my head. “I don’t n-need to burden you with my problems, officer. I’m sorry for speeding. I’m so, so sorry,” I croaked as the tears continued to slide down my cheeks. They knew where to fall. They’d done it so many times before—countless, actually. I was surprised I didn’t have a skin condition with the amount of tears I’d cried in the last year.
He sighed again, ducking his head and muttering something to the ground. Then, he rose up and walked back to his car.
I blinked, dumbfounded and I sniffled. Where was he going? Didn’t he need my information?
Less than a minute later, he returned, carrying a travel sized package of tissues. He met my eyes and held them out for me.
I looked at them for a moment, questioning everything before looking up at his face.
He tipped his head down to them. “Please, for the love of God, sweetheart, take a tissue and wipe those tears. You’re fucking killing me,” he ordered, his voice still soft.
I nodded, grabbing one. As I started to wipe my tears, he bent back down. “Here’s the deal,” he began. “I won’t write you a ticket if you tell me what you were ready for, yeah?”
I blinked.
“Can you do that for me?” he pressed, his brown eyes shining.
I nodded once more. “The truth?”
He chuckled. “I mean, you could lie to me, but yeah, I would like the truth.”
I looked to my lap as I began pulling the tissue a part slowly. “My husband died last year,” I whispered, my voice so quiet, I was sure he couldn’t hear me.
“Oh.”
I peeked up at him to find his face painted with pity. “I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine…”
I didn’t bother saying thank you, because that was a weird thing to thank someone for in my opinion. All I could do was nod, and I felt like if I did that one more time, my head would pop off. “I came out here to start over,” I said after a few moments of strained silence, cars passing us without a care in the world.
He raised a brow. “You came to Astoria to do that?”
A weak smile formed on my lips. “I like the name, and I saw an advertisement for a restaurant.”
“Margie’s?” he guessed.
“That’s the one, yes.”
He returned my smile with one of his own, and for a moment, I was reminded of Robert. I felt a kick in the gut then, and my own smile faded away, nothing more than a memory now.
“Margie has been around since I was just a kid,” he told me. “She’s one hell of a cook.”
“I can’t wait to try it,” I replied, looking back to the road, pondering if this was really the place I wanted to start over at. So far, things hadn’t been going well. I hadn’t even made into the dang town and I was already pulled over.
“What’s your name?”
My eyes met his again, and I blindly reached for my backpack. “I’m sorry, do you need my driver’s license?”
His lips twitched. “Told you I wasn’t giving you a ticket. We made a deal, remember? Just want your name.”
I swallowed. “C-Carrie.”
“Carrie,” he repeated, as if testing it.
We stared at each other for a few more moments before he pulled out a notepad and scribbled something down on it. “Alright, Carrie, here’s what you’re going to do before you hit Margie’s. You’re going to head down the main road here and stop at Rossy’s Books. Then you’re going to go inside and ask for Sarah Humbly.”
“Who is that?” I asked.
He grinned. “That’s my wife.”
“Oh.”
He ripped the paper off the notepad and held it out to me between two fingers. “You’re going to tell Sarah that her pushover of a husband couldn’t stand the sight of your tears and decided to help you.”
I took the paper from him, saying nothing.
“Got all that?” he asked, raising his brows.
“I—uh—why are you doing this?”
His smile faded. “Because a long time ago, I lost my dad, and I would’ve given anything to help my mother start over instead of being stuck in the same house, in the same town, for the rest of her days.”
My lips parted. “I-I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
He shook his head. “Don’t apologize. It was a long time ago.”
I looked back to the road and then down to the paper. There were two words scribbled on it.
“What’s this?” I questioned; my voice thick.
“All you have to do is give that to Sarah and tell her to call me, yeah?”
“Okay,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
He flashed me a handsome grin, one I knew had to drive his wife crazy. “I’ll be seeing you around, Carrie,” he said, turning to walk away.
I moved toward the car window. “Wait—what’s your name?” I called out to his back.
He turned around, lifting his chin. “Michael Humbly.”
“Thank you, Michael.”
He smiled. “Go see my wife, Carrie. Oh—and welcome to Astoria.” He left me with that, getting back into his squad car.
A small bell above the door jingled as I stepped into the quint bookstore, the smell of fresh coffee filling my nostrils, overwhelming my senses in the best way. My eyes adjusted to the light quickly as I took in the rows of bookcases that lined the walls of the space, leaving two smaller rows of bookcases in the middle. Towards the back, there was a spiral staircase, and as my eyes trailed its length, I was pleasantly surprised to find a small children’s section overlooking the rest of the bookstore.
I looked to the left and found the source of the amazing coffee scent. There was an espresso bar on the far wall, nestled into the other half of the space, with barstools and various small tables placed around it. The chairs were painted a wine red, matching the expensive-looking espresso machine behind the counter. There was a black-haired woman with tattoos making a latte behind the bar, chatting with the customer in front of her.
“Can I help you find something, dear?”
I turned my head to find a tall, slender gentleman dressed in khakis and a knitted sweater standing behind a smaller checkout counter, books stacked all around him. He was older, possibly in his late fifties, but there was a child-like sparkle in his eyes that I found precious.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to stand in the doorway,” I rushed out, stepping up to the counter.
He smiled at me, the lines around his eyes deepening. “That’s quite alright,” he said, and that’s when I noticed his British accent. “How can I help you?”
“I’m actually here to see Sarah,” I told him. “Is she here?”
He nodded. “She’s in the back. May I ask why you need her?”
I held up the note Michael had given me. “Her husband told me to come find her.”
The man’s eyes lit up. “Did he now?” he asked as his eyes assessed me.
Heat crawled into my cheeks. “After he pulled me over.”
The man blinked before he threw his head back, a loud, pleasant laugh escaping him. It echoed through the quiet store, and I swallowed the urge to yank my hoodie up as I looked around. The barista and customer were both looking in our direction now.
The heat in my cheeks grew.
As the man’s laughter died, he walked around the counter. “I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. Thank you for that, dear,” he said, beaming.
I gave him a fake smile. “Glad I could help.”
He chuckled again. “I’ll go get Sarah. Please,” he said, gesturing towards the books, “feel free to look around.” With that, he left me, disappearing into the stacks.
I looked down at my appearance, taking in my day-old leggings and Cardinal hoodie.
I needed a shower, food, and a day-long nap, but I came here first against my better judgment. Michael had been so kind to me and honestly, I wouldn’t mind some help—maybe even a friend or two?
Was it silly of me to consider Michael a friend after pulling me over?
Taking a breath, I made my way to the bookcase along the left wall, my fingers brushing over the spines as I scanned the titles. I hadn’t read a new book in years. It was something I used to always do before I got married. After, I couldn’t find the time. Between housework and going to the gym every day, by the time I had a second to relax, I was too exhausted to do anything.
My eyes stopped on an interesting fantasy book, and I plucked it out of the shelf, feeling the weight of it as I thumbed the pages. Flipping over to the back, I took my time reading the blurb, my interest peaking with every sentence. I tucked the book into the crook of my arm and continued making my way down the wall of shelves. By the time a young woman around the same age as Michael approached, I had three books in my arms.
“Hi,” the woman greeted me cautiously from behind.
I turned to her fully and gave her a small—awkward—wave. “Hi. Are you Sarah?”
She nodded, and it took me a second to respond. I was taken aback by her beauty. She wasn’t movie star beautiful. No, Sarah’s beauty was more of a gentle beauty. She had an oval face, fair skin, baby pink lips, light brown hair, and the prettiest brown eyes I’d ever seen. They put her husband’s eyes to shame.
“Rossy said my husband sent you,” she began. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah. Yes. He just—uh…” I trailed off and bit the inside of my cheek as she waited for an answer. “He actually pulled me over outside of town.”
Her brows went up, and she slowly folded her arms over her chest. “If you’re here to tell me he was rude, I can assure you I’ll straighten him out when he gets home,” she promised.
My lips twitched as a bubble of laughter threatened to surface. “No, no. He was so kind to me—even kinder when I started crying.”
“Oh, gosh. You cried?” she asked softly. “Why?”
I pressed my lips together, not wanting to say it again. Once was enough, for today at least. I held out the note to her. “He said I needed to come to you and tell you to call him,” I explained.
Her arms fell as a soft confusion hit her features. “Call him…? What?” she muttered more to herself than to me as she took the note from my hand. She looked at it and then met my eyes again. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Okay.”
She stepped forward and gently put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m just going to call him, and I’ll be right back out. Please continue shopping. Oh—and feel free to get some coffee. My treat. Just tell Margo its on me.” Sarah gave me a warm smile, gave my shoulder a squeeze, and disappeared to the back.
“Everyone here is so nice,” I murmured, watching her walk away.
I ended up picking out one more book to purchase before making my way to the coffee counter. The girl with the black hair and colorful tattoos looked me up and down before her eyes flicked behind me, most likely searching for Sarah.
When she looked back to me, she asked, “Let me guess. Sarah said your drink is on the house?”
A sour taste filled my mouth as her question rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe everyone here wasn’t nice . I shook my head. “That won’t be necessary. I can pay for my own drink,” I assured her.
She continued looking me up and down for a few more seconds, but it felt like forever. When she finally finished her cold assessment, her cold eyes seemed to warm. “I’ve decided I like you,” she declared before nodding to the stool closest to me. “Take a seat and tell me what you want.”
“Is it possible for you to make a lavender latte?” I asked, setting my books on the counter.
She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “Sure thing, Cardinal,” she drawled, turning to face the espresso machine.
Cardinal?
“Cardinal?” I parroted.
She nodded, not looking at me. “Your hoodie.”
Yeah, I really needed to change clothes.
I took my seat and, in an effort to not be awkward, I pretended to read the backs of the books I was set to purchase, the low hum of the espresso machine filling my ears.
I could feel eyes on me that weren’t Margo’s, but the unsteady feeling I’d been expecting never made its presence known.
For some reason, I felt safe in this quiet little bookshop.
“Name’s Margo, by the way,” she said as she frothed the milk, looking at me over her shoulder.
“I’m Carrie,” I replied softly.
She smirked, turning back to make my drink. “Carrie’s cute, but that’s not what I’m going to call you,” Margo told me matter-of-factly. A second later, she was facing me again, setting my latte down in front of me. “I’m going to call you Cardinal.”
Then, she gave me a smile, and something fluttered inside me. It was warm and comforting—but foreign. I hadn’t felt anything like that in a very long time.
My throat was thick once more. “That’s fine,” I murmured.
If she heard the sadness in my voice, she didn’t show it. Instead, she looked down to the drink. “Let me know if you like it.”
“I will,” I promised.
She gave me a wink and went down to the other end of the counter, washing dishes in the small sink by the window, leaving me alone with my coffee.
I wrapped my hands around the thick, black mug, appreciating the foam heart on top before lifting it to my lips.
“Holy balls,” I whispered after taking my first sip. “That’s divine.”
“Carrie?”
I turned to find Sarah coming up to me again, her purse over her shoulder. She looked at the coffee and smiled. “Glad you got something.”
“Me, too. This is the best coffee I’ve ever had,” I praised.
“That’s because I made it,” Margo boasted.
Sarah shook her head and leaned into me. “I taught her everything I know,” she whispered.
I stifled my giggle as I took another sip, relishing the hot liquid sliding down my throat. Sarah took a seat next to me. “Okay, so. I hope you don’t mind, but Michael told me about your situation,” she confessed, her eyes kind. She leaned in and whispered, “I think it’s very brave what you’re doing.” I looked down at my lap and then felt a hand on my shoulder. When I looked up, Sarah’s face was filled with regret. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just—I just thought you might want to know how well you’re doing.”
If only she knew the half of it…
As I set the cup down gently, I changed the subject. “I was wondering if you could direct me to the nearest hotel. I need to find somewhere to stay while I look for a place,” I told her.
She gave me a small smile. “Sweetheart, that’s why Michael sent you to me.”
“What?”
“Michael and I have a place for you to stay—if you want it,” she explained.
My eyes widened. “You—you have a p-place?”
The kind woman nodded in excitement, her eyes beaming. “Come with me.”