We’ve stopped three times for gas before I get out to go to the toilet. I use the toilet quickly, not closing the door all the way. Damian won’t come running to save my butt this time.
After I’ve washed my hands I take the passport and I.D from my pocket so I can inspect them. I need to know what my new identity is so I can at least give Annie a name. When I open the passport and see the name, I feel a piece of me crumble away. I stare at the name until tears well in my eyes.
The face is mine, but it’s a much younger and happier me. He must’ve gotten it from Uncle Tom.
But the name … Karen Weston. He gave me his name. Back when he hardly knew me. The little card shows my face, my new name and his address. Chesnee, South Carolina.
I look at the passport and I swallow hard. He did all of this for me. He was going to take me in and look after me from the start. It wasn’t just a fly-by-night, hero trip he was on.
Did I do the right thing leaving him? Was he a friend after all?
“Honey, did you fall in?” Annie calls from outside.
“No,” I croak. I clear my throat and quickly wipe the tears from my cheeks. “I’m coming.” I shove the documents in my pocket and flush the toilet so Annie will think I was using it all this time. I square my shoulders and when I walk out I lift my chin and smile at Annie.
“I’m Karen Weston, and thank you for letting me come with you.”
“Pleasure meeting you, Karen.” She smiles but her eyes search my face as if she knows I’m giving her a fake name.
We head back to the RV but before I get in I look down the road. For a moment I have the insane thought of going back to Damian. I’ll be safe there. I’ll have some sort of a home.
Damian …
I shake my head hard and get in. I can’t go back to so much uncertainty, but I will take a piece of him with me.
The road is long and I can’t sleep. We drive forever and then some. Night becomes day, which becomes night again. Time just blurs right by me. We might as well be halfway to Africa already for all I know.
Annie talks a lot. I mean the woman must’ve swallowed a gramophone because she just doesn’t stop. After a while her voice is a hum and I nod and say yes to show interest, until she hits the palm of her hands on the steering wheel in excitement. My eyes dart to her and I frown when I see the huge smile on her face.
“Really! You think that would be a great idea? I think so, too,” she babbles.
I lift my head from the window and look at her. She’s a happy looking lady, a bit on the large side, but it makes her look all the more friendly. Her brown hair is graying at the sides, her brown eyes soft.
“Why did you think it’s a great idea?” I try to fish. I have no idea what I just agreed to.
“Well, I’ve wanted to try the wholesale thing for a while now, but I never had someone to help me work the land. With you there it might just work,” she explains.
Oh, hell no. I’m not starting a farming thing with her. I take a breath and stare back out the window. Maybe I can somehow disappear at one of the stops. But I know I won’t because I’m a coward.
“We’re almost there,” she suddenly says.
I look around me and I’m stunned by the beauty around me. Everything is so green! It’s all just a wide open space of green.
When we pull into a dirt road, I get out to open a rusted gate. It rattles as it swings. We drive quite a way up the dirt road before we get to a house. It’s simple looking. An almost flat roof, wooden structure stands practically in the middle of nothing.
“It’s one of those trailer houses. They bring them on wheels when you buy one,” she goes on talking. I get the feeling that talking puts her at ease. “It works for me. Who needs more than two bedrooms and a bathroom? The kitchen’s big enough to cook what I eat and I can rest my old behind in my living room. I don’t need something fancy. The land is out back, closer to the river so I don’t have to walk far for water. I’ll show you later. Let’s get ourselves settled first. My back is about to break in half.”
I follow her into the small house, not sure what to expect. Her home is … peculiar. I suppose it’s just like her in a way. Little relics decorate just about every open space and mismatch carpets cover the floor. The two couches are from another era, and I’m not sure they make her kind of television anymore. It still has those knobs you have to turn.
The kitchen is another story. Pots and pans hang from the ceiling, along with dried chili and garlic. A row of little herb pots fill the windowsill, and there’s tiny magnets with bible verses decorating the fridge.
“It’s home, Honey,” she sighs. I smile at her because she’s right. This is her home. “This way,” she says, pointing down a short passage.
It’s not really a passage, it’s more like four steps. The guest room is decorated in shades of purple. I swallow and walk in. It’s real pretty. A single bed stands in the middle of the room with a simple chest of drawers rounding out the furniture.