Prologue
Lizzie Hampton had a plan. Now she just needed the nerve to carry it out.
As she drove into the Copper Country, the three-county western tip of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, she started to have second thoughts.
Determined to follow through, she repeated to herself, like that little engine, “I think I can. I think I can.”
The sun shone brightly, which was not always the case in the Copper Country, even in mid-June. She took the blinding light as a good sign, a sort of welcoming committee. She drove through downtown Houghton, the small city that neighbored her equally small hometown of Hancock.
Some would call it quaint. Some would call it run-down. Lizzie called it home.
She crossed the Portage Lake Lift Bridge to Hancock. The swelling of her heart surprised her, as it did every time she came back. She truly loved it.
She unclipped her long black hair, shook it out, then rubbed her neck and rolled her stiff shoulders.
The ten-hour drive from Detroit felt like twenty.
She slipped her oldest Springsteen CD into the player.
Her love affair with Bruce had begun at the tender age of thirteen, and he was still bringing her home twenty-two years later.
Just over the bridge separating Houghton and Hancock, she pulled into Bob’s Mobil, famed in the area because of its marquee. Just below the ever-increasing gas prices read a daily changing Bible verse.
What made this sign so special was that no one had ever seen Bob, or anyone on his staff, change the marquee.
And people had tried…hard. There had been stakeouts commanded by drunken Michigan Tech students.
Local law enforcement—who really had nothing else to do in the peaceful area at 4am—would keep an eye out.
Even Lizzie herself, aided by her two best friends and a bottle of Boone’s Farm Tickled Pink, had given it a shot years ago.
No one had ever seen the “changing of the verse,” and it was jokingly discussed that maybe it wasn’t Bob who did the rotating, but a higher power.
Today’s verse was “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”
She sighed over that. Guess she wasn’t in line for the earth, because she sure as hell had no intention of being meek on this visit.
She gassed at the pump, then walked into the station to pay. Inside, she went to the coolers and pulled out a Diet Pepsi. She stood for a long time in front of the candy aisle, the glorious bright colors of red, orange, and yellow wrappers inviting her into their world of secret treasures.
Old habits, dark feelings, and strong yearnings waged war within her. God, would it always be this hard? Would she always have to rely on sheer willpower? Would the cravings ever go away?
Turning quickly away from the aisle, lest the lonesome call of the Kit Kat make her succumb, she made her way to the checkout.
“Hi Bob,” she said as she grabbed a USA Today, both Detroit papers, and the local paper, The Copper Ingot, scanning its front page for her best friend Katie’s byline. She put them all on the counter.
“Lizzie.” Bob acknowledged her presence and rang up her gas, pop, and papers.
Bob never said more than a grudging first name to his customers, but, amazingly enough, he remembered everyone, whether they stopped by every day or once every four or five years as Lizzie did.
Throw in her startling change in appearance since she’d last been in Bob’s, and his recognizing her was even more impressive.
During her ten years of obesity, she’d only come home three times.
The imagined embarrassment at seeing high school friends had kept her from venturing too far from her parents’ place during those visits.
Just to Alison and Katie’s places, occasionally to the Commodore for pizza, and to Bob’s for pop and the papers.
She hadn’t walked away from the candy aisle unscathed during those years.
As she gathered her purchases, she looked around for somewhere to get rid of her fifty-eight cents in change.
As she knew there would be, a canister sat next to the register.
A picture of an angelic and tragic-looking girl of around nine or ten, sitting in a wheelchair, adorned the converted tennis ball can.
The only inscription read “Help Hannah” in crude, hand-written letters above the photo.
Lizzie dropped the coins into the canister.
She turned to close her purse, then opened her wallet and gathered out her single bills and stuffed them in as well.
“See ya, Bob,” she said, getting only a grunt in reply.
She got in her SUV and grabbed her notebook from the passenger seat.
She’d written “The Plan” across the front in red marker.
All her tablets were labeled in front. It made it easier to find the one she was looking for amongst the two or three she’d have in her large purse at any given time.
She easily flipped to the page she sought.
The page had a Diet Pepsi stain and was slightly curled up at the bottom edges.
She’d flipped to this page often in the three months since she’d first begun her planning.
The familiar tingling that putting a plan to paper gave her returned. She looked through the bullet points and felt a rush of accomplishment at the check marks that accompanied all but one of the items.
Secure loose ends at work. This item was first, of course, and had taken the most time. There were several sub-headings beneath it, all completed. Still, she’d check in with a call at least once a day while she was gone, plus she was always available through text, email, IM, Skype, you name it.
Make arrangements with Robin. Her cleaning lady was up to speed on looking after her condo while she was gone. Nothing to worry about there.
Have mail transferred to Mom & Dad’s. A quick form dropped at the Post Office on her way out of the city had taken care of that.
Buy new wardrobe. That had been tough and had given her hours of anxiety at the department store.
She’d bought lots of work clothes in her new size, but had been content to spend her leisure time at home in her old sweats and shorts.
No longer. The number of suitcases in the back of her Navigator attested to that task being checked-off.
Bruce moaned Born To Run as she pulled out of Bob’s parking lot and turned up the hill toward her parents’ house. Her eyes scanned the last item on the list.
The only item left unchecked.
The reason she was here.
Find, fuck, and forget Finn Robbins.
Purchase Worth The Weight