I run outside and find the jeep locked. Torch didn’t give me back my key or the spare. That should have clued me in on the whole trust thing. It doesn’t matter. I know something about my jeep that he doesn’t. One of the reasons I kept the older models is that they’re easier to break into and use in a jam. For instance, the passenger side door of mine doesn’t lock. The knob goes down saying it does, but it never actually locks.
I jump in on that side and climb over the gearshift. I push the driver’s side seat all the way back and then maneuver so I’m hanging upside down. Under my seat are the only three things I’ve ever needed to get me out of a mess. I sure never needed a man. Not now, not ever. I grab the screwdriver, black tape, and the pen knife, and within a second I’ve got the cable-tied wires down from under the dash.
I’ve done this so often I could do it in my sleep. I find the starter wires and the power wires that come from the battery. A few flicks of my wrist and I’ve got the insulation stripped. I connect the wires. There’s a sizzle, then a spark. I almost smile as the engine comes to life. I quickly tape up the ends of the start wire, resituate everything, then turn myself around. I adjust the seat and, before I can think about it, I jerk the car into reverse, squealing my tires and raking gears as I push it into second. I’m already in fourth, which is crazy for a parking lot when I whiz by Torch, who’s standing at the opened door to our room. I flip him off and pull out onto the highway.
It’s only when I get three or four miles down the road that I realize I’m crying.
I drive for two hours straight before I’m brave enough to stop. The first thing I do is enter a store and buy a prepaid phone. Then, I dial Bethie.
“Katie? Are you okay?” Bethie asks. I can hear Gabby crying in the background.
I want to pour my heart out and tell my sister I’m not alright, that I’ll never be alright. I want to tell her that I fell in love with an idiot who thought it would be fun to tear my heart out of my chest and stomp on it, but I don’t give in to all that. Instead, I concentrate on her.
“Are you and Gabby alright? Where are you?”
“We’re not in Tennessee yet. We should be there tomorrow. Gabby got sick.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah. She has an ear infection. She’ll be okay, she’s just grumpy. It makes it hard to travel.”
“Where are you? I can come to you. We’ll change our travel plans. Maybe it’s time we consider going across the border.”
“Where? We both decided it would be easier to get lost here because we knew the land so well and didn’t need additional documentation.”
“I know, but… Canada is sounding better and better.”
“We’ll see. I really want Gabby to be close to—”
“That bastard doesn’t deserve to have Gabby in his life.”
“Katie.”
“Listen, tell me where you are.”
“Mississippi. I figured the safest bet was to travel in the opposite direction of you.”
“Okay. Shit, I’m over a day away from you. Alright, I’ll drive as far as I can tonight and then I’ll meet up with you tomorrow. Do you need me to bring you anything?”
“No, I have Gabby’s medicine and the hotel we’re in has a kitchenette. I stocked up for a few days when we stopped,” she says and then gives me directions to her hotel.
“Okay, sis. Call this number if you need me. Love you bigger than outer space,” I tell her.
“Moon and back again. Be safe, Katie.”
We hang up. Emptiness fills my heart. I hate being apart from Bethie. Since she found me again, we’ve been everything to each other. She’s my confidant, my best friend, and my sister. She’s also the only person I will ever be able to trust.
I shouldn’t have forgotten that.
*
I’m killed when I finally pull into the Mississippi state line rest area. I couldn’t go another step if I wanted to. I’ve traveled through the bottom half of Kentucky, from end to end of Tennessee, and finally hitting where I’m at now. With everything I’ve been through and all of the shit with Torch, I’ve got a migraine from hell. My leg is killing me, and my vision is blurry.
I’m a total train wreck. I didn’t think I could even find a hotel. I doubt Torch is looking for me, but if he is, he’ll scour the hotels. It’d be safest here, at least from Torch.
I get out of the jeep and limp towards the restrooms. There’s a greasy-looking guy in a blue windbreaker eyeing me as I walk by. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in a month. I don’t look at him. No need to encourage the guy; he gives me the creeps. I keep my eyes straight ahead as I pass him. I feel prickles of awareness spread over my skin, and I know he’s staring at me. I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to close and lock a door in my life. I do my business, then grab a rubber band from the three or four I have around my wrist and pull my hair up in a messy bun. When I leave, the greasy guy is still there. Great. I keep ignoring him, grab a water so I can down some pain pills, then head back to my jeep.
I take my medicine and feel instant relief that the guy hasn’t followed me out. I was worried he would. I lock my doors. To secure the passenger side, I take a piece of sea grass rope and tie it from handle to seat belt cover. Once I’m sure that it holds tight enough that no one can get in easily, I stretch my seat back.
Sleep can’t come fast enough.