CHAPTER 1
A rackety old pickup finally misfired its way out of townwhile a distraught young woman strained at the wheel andprayed to the gods for mercy. Nineteen-year-old Sarah Lockwas running. After a while, she looked in the rearview mirror,sobbing, and nodded as she saw her hometown, Dallas, recedingin the distance. Maybe a little speed on the open highway wouldthwart the backfiring of her stolen truck. She peeled away likea shot tiger. Must be the cheap gas, she thought.
Sarah glanced toward the grassy roadside outside thepassenger window and flinched at the sight of the little wadof money she'd pitched into the seat just minutes earlier—fiveone-hundred-dollar bills she had dug out of a jar in the pantry,her last tangible effort before bounding away. Now she wasthinking, What am I going to face trying to buy a hamburgerwith a hundred-dollar bill? At once, she sobered, knowing thatin the days ahead, she would face many other such pesky andmuch more compelling questions.
But this is it, thought Sarah. The dream is gone; it's over.No one would understand why she ran, no one in her life. But ithad to be done; it had to be settled at once, nipped in the bud.With good luck, she should be in Oklahoma City by noon. Shestomped the accelerator, fixed her eyes on the road ahead, anddrove on, brokenhearted but resolute in what she was doing. Atonce, the trusty old vessel backfired again. One more for theroad.
Now that she was settled on course, Sarah tried to relax.Gently, she caressed the left side of her jaw with two fingers, andthe tears came again. Before she could dwell on that matter, shewas startled by sirens screaming in the rear. The red-and-bluelights of the police car were closing fast—much to her delight."Come on down," she taunted, as if they could hear her. Sheraved on, "Nothing would serve my cause any better than to beidentified as going north out of Dallas, heading for OklahomaCity in this forsaken old 1999 Chevy pickup." At this point,there would be no reason to suspect it was a stolen vehicle, so itwas unlikely they were after her.
Sarah sped to seventy-five miles an hour and started drivingnonchalantly with one hand. Now she was rocking her headfrom side to side as if in rhythm to music in the car. At once,the blaring police chaser was at her back bumper. She laid on aseductive smile and glanced toward the car as it whizzed by andproceeded on ahead. "Curses!"
All the excitement seemed to be over. Traffic wasmonotonously light, and the highway had become boring. Evenold Grumpy managed only an occasional backfire. Too bad, forshe would have preferred to be distracted, fully occupied withmundane thoughts. Instead, she was taken back to thoughts ofher shattered dream. Once more, she tested her aching jaw andjerked back when she felt the deep pain of a bruised bone. Atonce, she tapped her lips, as if calling for their help, and startedshaking her head.
Sarah's whole life had been a wrangle, trying to overcome ademoralizing stigma placed on her during her early childhood.Years later, providence allowed her a life-changing event, whichbrought great promise—but it was not to be. The battle wasnot over after all. Within this crisis, it wasn't physical painthat hurt so much; rather, it was the emotional devastation,the destruction of her dream, the denial of freedom from thehumiliating disgrace thrust on her as a child.
* * *
Oklahoma City was positively inviting. There were no visiblelittle battles going on, either in the traffic or on the sidewalks.The only thing that possibly might have enhanced this picturewould have been a sign, reading "Welcome Fugitives." Forgetit, thought Sarah. This isn't a stolen truck after all. It's mine.She slapped the steering wheel and snorted loudly. So, by golly,I'm not a fugitive; I'm just a missing person. No law againstthat, right? Otherwise, life certainly seemed to be at ease inthis warm Southern city—just what a desperate, heartbrokenwoman needed.
Having frequently visited her late aunt who had lived nearthe city, Sarah generally knew her way around. Now, she drovestraight through town and into the parking lot of a four-storyapartment building. She just sat for a while, resting her head onher clenched hands near the top of the steering wheel. After awhile, she leaned back, took several deep breaths, and stared fora few moments vaguely into the sky. Then she glanced towardher lap, shaking her head at the dull mid-length black skirtpulled tight around a green satin blouse with sparkly magnoliablossoms and a huge, double-ruffle neckline. This outfit wasfamiliar to all who knew her, and since it would now be missingfrom her wardrobe, it surely would be held as the primary IDelement in tracing her.
Okay, it's time!
Sarah crammed the little wad of money into her gaudy over-the-shoulder,black leather bag; snatched the keys from theignition; and bumped open the door with a determined shoulder.As she twisted her way out of the old relic, she made a quicksurvey of her surroundings. There was no one in the parking lot;a couple of people were just entering the building. She slammedthe door, locked it, and strolled toward the apartment, tryingto appear calm and confident. Once inside the building, sheglanced at the desk which, mercifully, was very busy at themoment. She hurried to the elevator, rode it alone to the fourthfloor, found the stairwell, entered it, and walked half a flightdown. The plan was in motion.
In the stairwell, she lifted a pair of sleek black slacks fromher bag, as well as a tan, short-sleeved silk blouse and a pairof black high heels. No one would notice that these items weremissing from her wardrobe, for they had been on loan to avery close friend who had returned them a couple of weeksago when she moved to Arizona. Sarah had stored this outfitin a dry-cleaner's bag and then replaced it with another setof clothes when she ran. Now, quickly, she donned the newensemble. When it was fully in place, she twisted around a bit,somewhat prissily, as if modeling in a fashion show. Then shestuffed her runaway clothes into the bag, whirled it over hershoulder, tightened her lips, folded her arms, dipped her head,and whispered, "There!"
Back on the street, Sarah walked away from town for a blockand then circled back, walked two blocks, and caught a bus todowntown. She rested inside a busy shoe store until it was almosther turn. In a few moments, she eased out of her seat and headedfor the door, mumbling, "I'm sorry, y'all; I forgot something. Seeyou later." She dawdled out of the store and proceeded towardthe Greyhound bus station. It had been a long day, and she wassleepy and hungry. No matter, she had to press ahead.
Soon, she was hit with a sense of needing to hurry. It was1:15 p.m., and the bus was scheduled to depart at 2:30. However,the station was just minutes away. So now is the hour, thoughtSarah, for that strategic though dreaded phone call to MommyDear. Dreaded, because, as supportive as her mother had alwaysbeen, there was still one critical issue in their relationship, onethat had haunted her for ten years.
Leaning against a storefront with her huge bag slouched onthe pavement behind her ankles, Sarah lifted her cell phone andnervously dialed her mother's number in Dallas.
"Hello."
Mom?"
"Hey."
"Mom, no problem; I just called to let you know I'm fine,but I'm somewhere else."
"Than where?"
"Than there."
"Explain!"
"I'm in Oklahoma City, headed north. I just didn't want youto worry when you would find out I'm missing."
"Is Mack with you?"
"Ah ... no."
"Does he know?"
"Later, Mom."
"Sarah, what's going on?"
"It's okay, Mom; it's okay. Trust me. I'll fill you in later."
"Your dad's not gonna like this."
"Tell him to just take it easy, and please don't worry.Everything's going to be all right. So I'll call you again."
"Wait, wait, wait, wait! What's—"
"Check you later; bye."
Sarah closed the call, turned off the phone, and heaved herunwieldy bag back up to a weary shoulder. "Ouch!"
As she hurried away, she was hailed by an old man, seeminglyin a desperate hurry, yet straining to make his way along thesidewalk. As he approached, he smiled bashfully and dippedhis head briefly as if apologizing for the interruption. "Pardonme, ma'am," he creaked. "Can you tell me how to get to DeweyAvenue?"
Seizing a chance to escape her anguish for a moment, Sarahsmiled mischievously and chortled, "Ah, I recommend walking;it's so close, you know."
Quickly catching her jest, the old man joked, "How ...close ... is it?"
Sarah giggled, tapped his shoulder warmly, and said, "Okay,here's what you do. Turn around and go back the way you werecoming, just to the far edge of the courthouse. That's Hudson.Turn left onto Hudson, and walk one or two blocks to WestMain. Turn to ... ah ... your right, then walk about a block,and, bingo, you're there!" She threw out her hands excitedly andpiped, "Deal?"
"Deal," said the old man. He paused for a moment, lookingserious. "And, my dear, I must say, it was worth getting lost tofind you. Your warm sense of humor and not being in too biga rush to help somebody has made my day. I'll never forget thismoment. God bless you!"
As he turned and lumbered away, Sarah brushed a lone tearfrom her right eye and sighed. "You, too, sir. I'll not forget youeither. I wish you goodness and goodwill every day of yourlife."
It was still a little bit early when she arrived at the station, soshe grabbed a package of peanut butter crackers from a vendingmachine and sat down to wait for the preemptive right momentto buy her ticket. Clearly, this strategy was a gamble. The buscould well be fully booked already—one more thing to worryabout. So she just sat bedazzled, fidgeting with her crackers andtrusting the grace of God. I don't know why I'm so nervous;I'm perfectly incognito, whatever that means. Guess I'm justinstinctively nervous. "Oh ... oh!" Chewing hurts.
Precisely at two o'clock, Sarah walked toward the ticketcounter, trying to look snappy and proud. Not a worry in theworld.
"Good afternoon, miss. May I help you?"
"Yes, thank you. One-way to Dallas, please."
CHAPTER 2
Sarah lingered in the bus lane, smiling at passengers hurryingto board, politely stepping aside and waving them ahead. It washer premise that this would cast her as an unconcerned travelerwho had no fear of being recognized. Surely her behavior wasthe opposite of what one would expect of a girl on the lam.
Now the commotion was beginning to settle, so Sarahstepped smartly to the bus, holding her chin up, climbed thesteps resolutely, and handed her ticket to a harried-lookingdriver. At the top of the aisle, she paused. All the front seats weretaken except for one beside a woman who looked as though shemight not have had a bath in a few days. Sarah started down theaisle, meeting the easy smiles of seemingly relaxed passengers asshe strolled on. Near the back, a middle-aged man flaunting acertified extrovert smile, nodded toward the empty seat besidehim as if to say, "This one's for you."
"Be my guest ... please," he said.
"Thank you ... Believe I will. How kind of you to save mea seat."
"Well, I always try to look out for pretty ladies."
Uh-oh. This could get ugly. Sarah smiled.
"I'm Leon Garner," he said, bowing and exaggerating hisgrin.
"I'm Michelle Wheeler; it's very nice to meet you, Leon.Again, thanks for sharing your quarters with me."
"Quarters? Yeah, I guess you're right; each row is sort ofa ... what would you say—a billet?" He slapped his stomach,laughing vigorously, apparently thinking he'd gotten off thebetter quip. Then he cleared his throat and mused, "Surelythere's more behind that modest countenance of yours than Ithought."
"Hmm." This bird obviously wants to flirt. If only he'd justshut up. How am I gonna handle this for five hours?
"So anyway," continued Leon, "I hope I meet with yourapproval as a seatmate. I've already been criticized for this gearI'm in today."
Sarah shook her head lightly and glanced up into the face ofher partner. "Someone around here?" she asked.
"No, no," he said, "my wife ... when she let me out at thestation. See, she brought me down here; so, like, why not? Shedidn't have a damn else thing to do. Maybe she was on edgebecause she had to get off her rump and drive the car fourmiles."
As Leon rattled on, Sarah pretended to listen intentlywhile slyly scanning him for her own assessment. He was abit overweight and slightly balding, but not to the point ofdetracting from his somewhat handsome face. But, ugh, hisattire was totally out of character for this man of obvious self-confidence.He was wearing a long-sleeved blue dress shirt withbutton-down collar and no tie. This might get by for mostoccasions, but he had paired this slightly fashionable top withdenim pants.
Finally, Leon slowed to catch his breath. Then he leaned backhard against his seat, raised his chin, thumbed his collar up toit, and smirked. "What do you think?"
"I think your wife was right."
"Hmm. So you don't think this outfit looks good on me?"
"Sure, I think it looks good," she droned, halfheartedly. "Ijust think a button-down looks better with a tie."
"Well, you girls. I like it this way just fine—by golly."
"And that's all that matters," said Sarah politely.
"Woohoo! What a surge of support."
Sarah smiled. Then she looked away from him, taking in thesmall horde of passengers. Generally, it was a well-groomed,vibrant crowd, apparently happy with their decision to take abus. Some were already sleeping, or their posture made it appearthey were. Maybe this is a good technique for dealing with anincessant talker when you want to signal disinterest withoutbeing overtly rude. She winced when Leon started up again."Where're you headed?"
"Dallas. Aren't we all?"
"Oh, that's right; this is an express, isn't it?"
Sarah smiled but said nothing.
"Is that home?" blurted Leon.
"Is what home?"
"Dallas."
She didn't answer for a while, hoping he'd forget the question.However, he continued to stare right at her, lifting his eyebrowsfrom time to time, remaining unusually patient for an extrovert.So she swallowed, dropped her head, and murmured, "Sort of."She gazed into her lap, hoping to signal that she didn't want totalk about it. Apparently, he got the message, because he didn'tpress the issue. Maybe he's not a bad guy after all, thoughtSarah. In any event, he's proved to be sensitive on that one.Score one for Leon.
At once, the driver's voice blared over the loudspeakers."Welcome aboard, everyone. Thank you for choosing Greyhound.Everything's looking good for our flight—heh, heh. Sit back,relax, and enjoy the trip. We should be in Dallas by about sevenforty-five. Hang in there, as they say—heh, heh."
Just as the bus jerked and started to ease forward, someof the passengers began calling out to the driver. Some werewaving their arms and pointing toward the right rear of the buswhere a young boy was running, desperately trying to catch thedriver's eye. He was yelling and waving his ticket in the air. Hewas actually gaining on the bus until it started to pick up a littlespeed. Still, he raced on.
Suddenly, the presumably unwashed woman up frontbounded out of her seat and shot up to the driver, screaming,"That young man is going to get hurt! He has a ticket. Look!"
The driver grumbled something unintelligible, but he didstop the bus and open the door.
The young kid scrambled aboard, struggling for breath as hestretched toward the driver holding his ticket at arm's length.
The driver snatched the ticket and admonished, "Find a seat,quickly."
Thoroughly exhausted, the boy hesitated at the head of theaisle, panting and swallowing hard, clearly out of shape. Helooked to be about fifteen years old. His garb was a sharpcontrast to that of Sarah's seatmate. He was wearing baggypants, an Old Navy T-shirt, and a bib cap turned backward.At least his outfit was consistent throughout, unlike old Leon's.Suddenly, the boy swung himself into the seat next to the womanwho, unknown to him, had interceded on his behalf.
As the young lad settled in, the passengers applauded. Atthat, he rose somewhat out of his seat, turned half around, andnodded to the crowd. Then, he waved a limp finger in the air,humbly accepting their kindness.
As they rolled out of the station, an obviously irritated Leontapped Sarah's shoulder and smirked. "What's with the kid, Iwonder?"
"He's late."
Leon chuckled. "I dare say, Sarah, you're certainly a womanof few words."
