Chapter Two
Kenna
Amelia’s lower lip quivers a bit as I get her situated in her car seat. I tuck a piece of loose hair back into her braid, frame her face with shaking hands, and press a gentle kiss on her forehead. She’s trying to be strong, but this is a stressful situation for anyone, let alone a four-year-old.
Her cautious smile sends a flood of relief through me for the second time today.
Things could have turned out so differently.
Why did I drive in these conditions, putting her at risk?
I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her. Amelia is the one good thing in my life.
Outsiders would call me crazy. Claim my life is near perfect.
They’d wonder why I even have a care in the world. But they don’t understand. Nobody can.
Fear surrounds me like an ominous cloud as I look around the stranger’s truck. He seems nice enough, but I’m not na?ve. Not anymore. Everyone wants something from me. Why would this guy be any different?
My ex wants me to continue to support his bad habits.
My father wants me to sit in the front pew of his church and atone for all my sins.
I glance over at my precious girl, knowing he sees her as one of those sins.
My friends… Oh, who am I kidding, I don’t have any friends.
Not real ones. Real friends wouldn’t treat me the way I’ve been treated since… since…
I sigh. Sometimes I wish the past year of my life hadn’t even happened. I might be glad for it someday. But today, especially right now, is definitely not one of those days.
The coffee cup in the cup holder on the dashboard earns some serious side-eye as I remember what got me in trouble in the first place—my need for coffee. My one true vice. My unabashed addiction to caffeine and all its superpowers.
Scanning the rest of the front seat for any clues as to who I’m trusting with Amelia’s and my lives, I notice a crumpled food wrapper on the floorboard, a New York Nighthawks baseball cap sitting on the middle of the front seat, and a very large roll of duct tape.
It’s the duct tape that has something turning inside me.
Why would anyone need duct tape in their car? It’s a red flag if I ever saw one.
And suddenly I’m feeling very vulnerable.
I should get out. Maybe take up the policeman on his offer for a ride. Call a rideshare, even.
But then something catches my eye. A picture tucked behind a rubber band on the driver’s sun visor.
It’s a boy, not as young as Amelia—I’d say he’s ten or twelve maybe—wearing thick glasses and supporting himself on crutches that don’t settle under his armpits, but clip onto his lower arms. He’s got the goofiest grin on his face, and for some reason, it makes me want to smile.
The tow truck driver—what was his name?—said he’s a single father. I’m not sure why seeing this picture makes me view the guy as less of a threat than he was a minute ago, but it does.
The truck shifts. The car must be loading. My eyes close briefly, wondering what I’m going to do. It’s not drivable. Probably won’t be for some time. And even though I’m not exactly sure where I am, I do know I’m not far enough away.
I don’t get out of the city much. I’ve never had the need or desire to.
Before Mom died, we’d sometimes vacation in Rhode Island or Vermont.
But those were rare occasions. And usually short trips.
Dad would never leave his ‘flock’ without him on Sunday mornings.
He capitulated from time to time, caving to my mother’s longing to get out of the city for a spell.
He’d begrudgingly go along, never failing to mention that vacations were frivolous expenses when our time and money were better spent serving the Lord.
And besides, who needs vacations when every Sunday was a day of rest?
Day of rest. Right. For whom? Not Mom. And certainly not me.
Dressing up and looking and acting like the perfect Pastor’s family, right down to the pasted-on smiles, was not remotely relaxing.
We’d have to maintain a cheery disposition in starched cotton, pressed into uncomfortable angles, talking to dozens of people, fawn over crying babies and screaming toddlers who wanted to be anywhere but where they were, while balancing in uncomfortable shoes as we patiently listened to stories from elderly parishioners who’d forgotten they’d already told the same tale a dozen times.
And, inevitably, we’d be invited to this house for lunch or that location for an event, drawing out the ‘day of rest’ into an evening of exhaustion.
“Mommy?”
I blink away the past and realize I haven’t spoken since getting into the truck. “Sorry, baby. Don’t be scared. It’ll be okay.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m not sure. First we need to go to the car repair place to see how bad the car is. I guess after that…” I sigh and look out the window as a few of the state troopers continue to direct the flow of traffic around us. I turn back and cup Amelia’s chin with my hand. “What does Mommy always say?”
“We’ll be fine as long as we’re together.”
I smile and try to look like I’ve got it all together, when I’m actually falling apart a little on the inside. “That’s right.” I lean in and she puckers her lips when my mouth draws near. I kiss her and tug on her braid. “My smart, smart girl.”
The door to the front opens, sending a rush of cold air through the cab of the truck.
The guy slides in. “All set. Everyone strapped in?” He puts an arm around the passenger seat and looks back at us, making sure Amelia is in her car seat.
My apprehension diminished at the moment, I pull the seatbelt across my shoulder and click it into place.
“It’s not far to the shop. Do you still want that coffee? It’s on the way.”
I eye his cup, wondering if he’s asking for me or if he just wants a fresh cup himself. Dealing with my accident has probably rendered his cold.
“Since coffee is the reason I’m in this predicament, I suppose I should at least end up with some.”
He laughs right before the engine roars to life and we begin to move down the exit ramp. “Well, Kenna, I promise you’ll love Ava’s coffee. It’s the best.”
“Who’s Ava?” Are we stopping at his girlfriend’s house or something?
“She owns the coffee house.”
“You know the owner of the coffee house?”
He laughs again. “I pretty much know the owner of everything.” We come to a stop at the bottom of the ramp where he points to a sign indicating White Plains is to the right and Calloway Creek is to the left.
“In case you’re not familiar, Calloway Creek is a small town.
Just about everyone knows everyone in one way or another. ”
I think of New York City and how it’s quite the opposite. In fact, I only knew the name of one of my neighbors. One. And only because she was Amelia’s babysitter. My apartment building probably had two hundred apartments.
It’s inconceivable to think that a whole town knows each other.
“How many people in the town?”
“About twenty thousand.”
My eyebrows meet in the middle. “You know twenty thousand people?”
He catches my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Okay, so maybe I don’t know everyone. But sometimes it seems that way.
Especially on my side of town, which is the older, original side.
The better side if you ask me. The one established long before big stores like Target and Home Depot and…
” His head shakes in disgust. “Well, other chains.”
For a moment, I consider asking him to take me somewhere in White Plains. The last thing I need is to be stranded in a small town where everyone knows everyone else’s business. Where it would be difficult to blend in and go unnoticed.
Then again, I left a city of eight million people because there was nowhere to hide. Maybe a small town is what I need.
“Um… I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
“Carter.”
“Can I ask you a question, Carter?”
“Shoot.”
“Why do you have a huge roll of duct tape in your truck?”
His amused eyes catch the reflection of my serious ones. He begins laughing, but then his face turns all business as he realizes why I must be asking. I’m a stranded woman with her young child, entrusting our lives to a complete stranger.
“Yeah, okay, so I can see how that might be worrisome since you don’t know me from Adam.
But I tow cars. Cars like yours that have been in accidents.
Sometimes those cars have pieces that are barely even attached.
Loose bumpers. Doors halfway off hinges.
Open trunks that won’t shut. Duct tape, along with bungee cords I keep in the toolbox strapped behind the cab, help me secure everything so nothing flies off.
Not to mention how annoying it sounds to have a piece of metal flapping in the wind as I drive. ”
“Oh, okay.”
He makes a left turn, and I feel like I’ve entered another world.
Small shops line each side of the street.
Snow from plows is piled high near each gutter.
A few people are bundled up and walking along the sidewalk.
Carter honks and waves. They wave back. A woman is dancing from foot to foot, obviously freezing while trying to brush the few inches of snow off the windshield of her parked car. Carter slows to a stop.
“I’ll be right back.”
He jumps out, directs the woman to get back inside her car, and proceeds to clean the rest of it off for her. I watch intently, eyes narrowed in awe and disbelief. People actually do things like this? I thought it was just in movies.
A memory flashes through my head, taking me back to when I was about eight or nine. Our car got a flat tire on the way to Roger Wheeler State Beach. We stopped in a town similar to this one to have it changed out. Right now, though, that feels like a whole lifetime ago.
“Kenna?”
I look at Carter in the mirror and cock my head.
“You’re safe with me. I’m one of the good guys.”
“I bet that’s what all serial killers say.”
We share a laugh. I just hope my instincts are right.
“Mommy, what’s a serial killer?”