Chapter 3
VIENNA
Just when I think things can’t get any worse, they do.
Back in New York, I thought I’d hit bottom. No job, no apartment, no friends, and bills up the wazoo, as my foster dad, Bob, liked to say. That’s what made it so easy to leave.
What was the point of staying in a city that had nothing for me? A city that only brought disappointment and pain? Anything could be better, I told myself. And doesn’t a town named Bliss sound like a good place to start over?
It did. And coupled with my memories of the months I lived in Bliss before my mother moved us again—some of the happiest months of my life—it seemed like the perfect solution.
Leave Troy and its busy streets filled with asshole drivers who go too fast and friends who are only friends when it’s convenient for them.
Move to Vermont, with its lush mountains and quaint New England towns and the promise of a new and better life than what I had.
The more I thought about it during those last weeks in Troy, the more I liked the idea.
It would be an adventure. So what if I had to camp out in my car for a couple of weeks until I got my first paycheck?
After some searching online, I found plenty of tips from people who lived in their cars intentionally, and for far longer than that.
So what if it was winter? The people online had tips for that, too. Wool blankets, memory foam pillows and mattresses, quilts to cover the windows, and cracking a window occasionally to keep the condensation from building up.
By the time I left for Vermont, I had it all planned out.
I’d scoured all the local thrift stores to find camping gear and appropriate winter clothing.
I sold my old laptop for enough cash to make the drive to Bliss two weeks ago to interview for a job.
I spent the last week in Troy hiding in the guest room of my ex-friend’s apartment, looking at rental listings in Bliss and imagining myself in one of them.
It was all going to work out, I kept telling myself.
In a year, I’d be settled in a cute apartment in Bliss, working at The Laughing Goat while I saved to finish my degree, and every Friday night, I’d meet up with my friends at the local pub for a celebratory end-of-the-week drink.
I might even have a boyfriend by then—and not the gross, cheating kind like my ex-friend had, but a kind, loyal one who’d never dream of looking at another woman.
It still could work out.
Pulling my sleeping bag closer around me, I try to remind myself of the positives.
I’m in Vermont, a state I’ve always wanted to live in ever since the months spent here when I was ten.
I have a job, albeit not the one I’ve dreamed of. But for now, dishwasher at The Laughing Goat will do. It’s not a stressful job, my coworkers seem nice so far, and my boss agreed to let me sit to rest my leg whenever it’s not busy. So those things are all good.
The dog is okay. According to Officers Nelson and Hannigan, he’ll be safe and sound at the shelter.
I’m okay. At least, physically. I’m cold and my leg is sore, but those are both things that will go away. I’m not splattered in a mess of blood and gore on the grill of a tractor trailer.
“Ugh.” I make a disgusted face at the thought. “Serial killers, and now this? I need to stop reading horror for a while.”
Maybe I can get a library card, I consider. Read some romances in anticipation of the upcoming holiday. I think they require an address for a card, but I could try using the one for the restaurant. Or I can wait until I have an apartment of my own, and I can use the address there.
Except how am I going to wait until then?
Camping in the back of my totalled car—and yes, I agree with Officer Hannigan, there’s no way this car is fixable—might work for tonight. But tomorrow, this Max Ellicott is going to look at the car, probably move it into a garage to work on it, and I’ll be stuck without anyplace to stay.
I glance up at the quilt draped around me.
Another tip I read online was to hang a quilt from the ceiling of the car, so it acts like a little tent.
All around me, I have a circle of memory foam pillows for added insulation, and my thrift store sleeping bag does a pretty good job of keeping me from freezing.
As a breeze ruffles the quilt, I’m reminded of the cracked windshield I tried to cover by taping a wool blanket to it.
Sleeping in the back of my wrecked car is far from ideal, especially with the wind trying to worm its way in.
But when Officer Nelson was driving me into town, I quickly looked up the cost of a room at the B and B and immediately realized I couldn’t afford it.
Then I checked the prices of the motel, which were significantly less, but still out of budget.
Plus, there was an update on their social media saying they were closed until April, so that meant the motel was definitely out.
I could have asked Officer Nelson to help me get to the shelter in Montpelier. But I didn’t. Partly because I didn’t want to admit I didn’t have a place to stay. And more so because I couldn’t think of a way to get to work by ten AM tomorrow from there.
So I told her the B and B was great. I thanked her for driving me into town when she was already so busy. And I made an excuse about having to call my mother—haha, fat chance, but Officer Nelson wouldn’t know that—so I could stand beneath the awning outside until she drove away.
Then I looked up the directions to Ellicott’s Engines and started walking here.
If I’d been back in Troy, the cars probably would have been locked up. But in the sleepy town of Bliss? My car was right out in the open. So I hurried to it, my leg screaming from the effort, and went to work preparing my sad little shelter for the night to come.
But now that I’m inside it, I’m having a hard time staying positive.
Despite my best efforts, I’m still cold all over.
My leg still aches, and the ibuprofen I took hasn’t kicked in yet.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do tomorrow.
And I just feel so… alone.
Swallowing hard against the lump in my throat, I try to force the threatening tears back.
It’s not that bad, I reason. At least I’m alive. So is the dog. And I met someone nice, even though I’m not sure I’ll ever see him again.
Although he acted like he was a local. The officers seemed to know him. So maybe Caleb lives near Bliss, and I’ll run into him around town sometimes.
But if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t want to run into him. I want to spend time with him. Which is stupid, because he’s probably married or dating some gorgeous woman. And then there’s me. A homeless dishwasher slash college dropout with nothing to offer.
Self-pity loosens my control over my emotions, and a few hot tears leak down my cheeks. My throat thickens. A yawning emptiness expands inside my chest.
Stupidly, naively, I have a fleeting wish that Caleb were here. Even though he was kind of grouchy, his nearness made me feel better. I liked how his blue eyes brightened the few times he smiled. I liked how his features softened when he laughed. And I really liked when he touched me.
Stupid, I know. But the heart doesn’t always listen to reason.
A glance at my phone tells me it’s just past eleven, which is surprising since it feels much later than that. I’m exhausted, like I’ve been awake for weeks. I’m not sure how much sleep I’ll actually get tonight, but maybe I’ll get lucky and catch a few hours, at least.
I’m just reaching for my phone to turn it off—I’d rather not, but without my car to charge it, I need to conserve the battery—when something heavy hits the window beside me.
A second later, there’s another heavy thunk.
I screech in fear and scuttle backwards, dragging the quilt along with me.
It falls from the hook I installed on the ceiling and collapses over my head, turning everything black.
Fear blossoms into terror as I try to wriggle free. But with the mess of quilt and sleeping bag wrapped around me, I’m trapped.
Though I can’t see it, a creak of metal tells me the door is opening.
Oh, God.
Was I right about the serial killer?
Or could it be Max, angry that I snuck onto his property?
As I fight to escape the sleeping bag, I plead, “Please, I’m sorry, I’ll leave. Just don’t hurt me. Please.”
“Vienna?”
I freeze at the familiar voice.
A second later, the quilt is pulled off my head.
Then Caleb’s face appears, creased with worry and confusion. “Vienna?” he repeats. “What are you doing here?”
Relief and horror crash into me simultaneously.
Pressing my hand to my chest in a futile attempt to slow my racing heart, I gasp, “Caleb? What are you doing here?”
He stares at me for a second before replying drolly, “I think I just asked the same thing.”
He did. I’m just not sure how to answer. “How did you find me?” I ask in hopes of deflecting his question.
Before he can respond, a gust of snow whooshes into the car, reminding me just how cold it is outside. I shiver and pull the fallen quilt around me. Caleb frowns. “You left your purse,” he says. “I only realized once I got back to my car.”
“My purse?” I quickly scan the back of the car, and nope, my blue crossover bag is nowhere to be seen. “I left my purse?”
The lines on his forehead deepen. “You did. And I thought… Well. The police are so busy tonight. I know women need their purses, and if you wanted to pay for a hotel room…”
But I didn’t. Obviously. “Why didn’t you give it to the police?” I ask. “I’m sure they would have gotten it to me.”
“I have four-wheel-drive,” he explains. “And I’m not far from here. Just a couple miles outside town. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Except it was. Because finding me in the parking lot of Ellicott’s Engines can’t have been the first place he looked. “But here?” I start. “How—”