CHAPTER 58
Summer
Not only do the MacLaines never give up, but they also have unlimited resources to do whatever needs to be done. I’d be a fool to assume they won’t sic their private investigators on me, like they did with Evander and Phoebe, or wave their cybersecurity magic wand in my direction.
I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a fool.
At least I’m doing my damndest to make it hard enough for them that I buy some time.
Where I’m really headed is about as far from Mexico as a person can get.
I’m going to the shale oil fields of North Dakota, where I plan to find work.
I’ve never done that type of job before, but I’ve heard there’s plenty of positions to be had and that it pays well.
There aren’t many women in that line of work, but that’s nothing new for me.
I’m used to doing men’s jobs, and I’m not afraid of proving myself.
Or taking care of myself.
Besides, I need that kind of punishing physical work. It will help me shake off the grief of what I’ve lost.
I leave the mini-mart, take a long swig of the Gatorade, and walk to the bus stop.
I get through the rest of the Gatorade and half of the peanut butter crackers when the Reno bus arrives.
It’s about an hour to Reno, and once I step off, I check the schedule for my transfer. It’s a three-hour wait to head north.
But something on the schedule catches my eye.
There’s a bus to Santa Barbara that’s due to arrive in ten minutes, and it stops in nearby Lompoc. My parents are in Lompoc—my father in the federal penitentiary and my mother in the minimum-security female annex. They’re both serving long, long prison sentences, and for very good reasons.
I’ve only visited them once. Just before my eighteenth birthday. It was a clusterfuck, and I’ve regretted it ever since.
Truly, I don’t know what’s possesses me, but I walk to the ticket counter. I tell myself that if I can manage to purchase a ticket to Lompoc before the Santa Barbara bus has come and gone, then it’s a sign I need to go. Before I travel to North Dakota. Before I travel anywhere.
I buy the ticket and turn around, just as the bus pulls up.
Looks like I’m headed to Lompoc.
Some might call this fate.
I call it a long overdue housecleaning.
I climb on board and take a seat. We move as slow as a box turtle chugging up the mountains on our way west, but it’s not like I can make the bus go any faster with my impatience.
It’s going to be a long-ass bus ride to Lompoc, more than sixteen hours in all counting all the small-town stops and the passengers we’ll take on in Sacramento.
It’s bright daylight as the bus reaches the northernmost part of California’s Central Valley, but I’m not sure if I should be thankful for that.
It’s strange to be back after so long in Nevada, but the Central Valley is where I spent most of my childhood.
I never stayed in one place for long, moving from town to town as my parents either skipped out on rent in the middle of the night or took over before someone snitched them out to the cops.
California is a ginormous place, so as much as folks might try to conquer it with their concrete jungles, they can’t seem to beat back all of its natural grandeur.
The Central Valley is as beautiful as my years here were ugly. And I have to fight back a wave of sickness that crashes through me as I see it again for the first time in a decade.
Maybe I’ve made a horrible mistake. Maybe I should have gone to North Dakota. Or North Carolina. Or North Bumfuck. Anywhere but here.
Sacramento is a quick stop, just enough time to use the restroom, eat a hot dog, and buy some snacks before I go back to my saved seat. We’re on the road again by about 4 o’clock.
My heart is so heavy. I stare out the window, watching cities and towns slip by in the fading light. Declan will be home in just a few hours. He’ll read my note and see the annulment paperwork and his heart will break.
I’m so sorry, Declan.
I place a hand on my useless belly and rest my head against the seat, closing my eyes. I have way too many swirling thoughts in my brain. I have one ovary and not enough hormones. And I have absolutely no idea why I’m headed to Lompoc for a chat with good ol’ Steve and Lurlene Stevens.
What a mess I’ve made of everything.
No matter which way I turn, Declan gets hurt. But at least this way, he’ll hurt only for a short while. If I chose to stay with him, the hurt and regrets would be delayed, but they’d grow and grow over the years into a resentment that can never be fixed.
The sun disappears over the horizon of the Pacific Ocean. Though my mind continues to race, and my heart weighs a ton, I eventually manage to fall asleep. When I wake up, the bus is on another incline, and I have to pee like a stallion.
“Only thirty minutes away from Lompoc.”
An older woman sits across the aisle from me, smiling in the muted light inside the coach. “You’ve been sleeping soundly for quite some time,” she says. “I’m glad you got the rest you needed.”
“What?” I scrabble upright and at first I can’t remember where I am. When I find my wits, I check that my backpack remains squarely situated on the floor between my feet. I’ve got all my cash in there. If I lose it, I’ll be completely fucked.
The lady’s still smiling at me. I squint at her. How did she know I needed rest? Or that I’m going to Lompoc?
Oh. My ticket is clipped overhead my seat. I drop my guard and exhale.
“Do you know what time it is?” I ask her, remembering how I threw my phone into the Las Vegas street and watched it get flattened.
“About ten o’clock.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
There are no visiting hours at night, surely. I’ll have to find a place to stay. I have enough cash to keep me going for a few months at most, so I know I’ll have to be careful not to throw it around.
When we arrive in Lompoc, about a dozen passengers are herded off the bus. I watch everyone get their bags and walk away with a destination in mind. I don’t have bags. I don’t know where I am or where I’m going.
“Oh, honey, you look lost,” the older lady says to me. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?”