Chapter 25
Interlude
One Day Ago
It’s cold on the bus, my breath against the window creating wet patches of condensation.
The heaters at the floorboards are barely able to warm the first six inches above the floor, let alone the entire bus.
I don’t have a coat nor am I wearing anything that would pass as warm-weather clothing.
Just a long-sleeved Henley, jeans, and sandals that expose my toes to the scant flow of heated air.
I didn’t have time to grab more clothes or much of anything else before I set out.
I didn’t have time to do a lot of things.
For the past twelve hours, I’ve been sitting in this seat.
The only breaks to get up and stretch my legs or use the bathroom are when we stop for gas or to drop off and pick up passengers at bus depots along the route.
Twelve hours is a lot of time to think when you have nothing else to do.
So that’s what I’ve been doing. Thinking things like: How could I have been so stupid?
Why did I believe his lies? He said that he loved me.
He said that he couldn’t live without me.
He said that he would take care of me and give me everything.
I draw little hearts in the vapor clinging to the window, missing him but also relieved to be gone.
I touch the bruise on my face. Just one of many that he’s given me over the year we’ve been together.
I’m a master at hiding them with dark sunglasses, long-sleeved shirts, and blue jeans.
Why did I stay with him for so long? I’ve been asking myself that question for the past twelve hours.
“Going to see family for the holidays?” the elderly woman beside me asks. She’s been quietly knitting the past several hours.
“Going home,” I tell her.
“How nice. I’m going to see my grandbabies. Pattie just turned two so I’m making a winter hat with ears. I was told ears on hats were all the craze this year.” She holds up what she’s been knitting.
I turn from the window to look at it. She’s done a great job adding dark green ears to a blue and green wool hat. “She’s going to love it,” I tell her, wanting to be polite even though I’m not in the mood to talk.
“Oh, no dear. Pattie is my grandson. It’s short for Patrick.”
“That’s a nice nickname,” I reply automatically
My thoughts have been occupied on how my parents are going to react when I walk through the door. How Lizzie is going to react. Will they be glad to see me, or will they hate me for just up and leaving?
The old woman touches my arm with gnarled fingers, a few of them showing the signs of advanced arthritis. “Sweetie, are you alright? What happened to your face?” she queries when she looks at me with her pale blue eyes.
Crap, my bruise. I didn’t have time to cover it with make-up before I left. “It’s a birthmark.” I give her a gentle smile. Yeah, I’m good at creating lies on the fly.
“Sorry, dear. I didn’t mean anything by it. See this right here?” She touches a finger to her arm. “Age spots. Hate them. They make me feel older than dirt. I’m only sixty-eight for Pete’s sake.”
I don’t want her to feel bad, so I say, “I’m used to people asking questions. It doesn’t bother me.” I pat her hand to reassure her.
She goes back to her knitting, and I go back to staring out the window.
I must doze off because the old woman wakes me with a slight pat to my shoulder. “Wake up, sweetheart.”
I sit up, my heart hammering from the dream I was having and look around in confusion. Passengers are filing off the bus one by one. Those with luggage are waiting outside while the driver unloads the compartment underneath. I see the sign for the Fallen Brook bus terminal outside my window.
“Do you have a connection to get to?” she asks me.
“No. This is the end of the line for me. This is home.” End of the line. How apt.
“Would you mind, dear? I’m not as flexible as I used to be.” She motions to her bag sitting on the floor in front of her seat.
“No problem.” I pick it up and help her to stand. “I can carry this for you,” I offer, and she smiles her acceptance.
As soon as we disembark, we see a family standing under the overhang, waving at her. One little boy comes running over yelling “Gammie!” over and over. My heart aches as I watch the old woman’s family because it makes me realize just how much I’ve missed mine.
I hand the boy’s father the woman’s bag and smile at her family.
The parents give me an odd look when they see my face, but they don’t say anything.
Pushing my hair over so it helps cover my bruise, I start walking.
I don’t have a phone and I have about three dollars left in my pocket, so I decide to hoof it home on foot rather than waste more quarters on a pay phone.
Of course, I know the way to my house from here, and it shouldn’t take more than hour to walk the distance.
Besides, it’ll give me more time to think about what I’m going to say to Mom and Dad and Lizzie.
Is it a school day? Is Dad off touring? Will Mom be at work?
If I have to, I can use the spare key we keep hidden in a secret location on the porch in order to get inside the house.
I fantasize about taking a nice, hot shower and a long nap when I get home.
I don’t allow myself to think about what comes next—with my family, with my sister, with my friends, with school…
with him. Will he come for me? Does he love me enough to change?
Will I be able to forgive him if he does?
By the time I get to our street, I’m wracked with shivers from the cold and my lack of warm clothing and proper shoes.
At least it’s mid-morning and the sun is helping warm me somewhat.
I’m starving though. I haven’t eaten anything for more than a day, and my feet hurt like the dickens.
I’m certain I’ll have blisters from the sandals.
It takes another five minutes to get to my house and when I do, I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of a sign in the yard.
For Lease.
What the hell?
Rushing up the steps to the front porch, I reach inside the porch light glass enclosure and feel around for the hidden key.
As soon as I touch cold metal, I yank the key out and unlock the front door.
Pushing it open, I step inside. The cold wind blows a few brown, dead leaves around my feet as I stand and gape.
The house is dark. Empty. The furniture and pictures are gone.
The side table in the foyer where Mom would always keep a vase full of fresh-cut flowers is no longer there.
“Mom! Dad! Lizzie!”
The house feels like a tomb. Taking the stairs two at a time I dash to Lizzie’s bedroom.
Her door is open. Again, I’m met with emptiness.
Her bed is gone and all the photographs of her and the guys are no longer plastered all over her walls.
Even the scent of her jasmine perfume is missing from the air.
How long has the house been empty? My eyes cloud with tears as I slowly wander into my own bedroom through the jack-and-jill bathroom
Nothing. Everything is gone. Everyone is gone.
I collapse back against the wall, sinking down to the floor as racking sobs overtake me. This can’t be real. They wouldn’t just up and leave, would they? Did they even try to find me? Did anyone look? Was I missed at all?
He was right. He was all I had. I shouldn’t have left. I am nothing. You are unwanted. You are unloved.
Hearing heavy footsteps thudding down the hallway, I look up from my crouched position and scream bloody murder when I see a gun pointed at me.
A police officer is standing there, giving me a considering once-over. “We got a call about a possible break-in. Are you okay, miss?” he asks, securing his gun back in its holster.
Am I okay? Is he freaking kidding me? He just held a gun on me.
“I used to live here,” I lamely tell him as my eyes roll into the back of my head and I collapse to the side in a dead faint.