December and much of January had blurred into a flurry of paperwork, e-mails, phone calls, and money transactions. The closing was just two days away in Muldro. Tomorrow morning, she’d begin her drive south, but she had one thing left to do before she could leave her life in Michigan behind.
Aware that she reeked of cleaning supplies, Tish leaned against her grocery cart like an old lady with a walker. She’d promised her aching muscles a long bubble bath, but this was her last chance to buy flowers. She was cutting it close too. The gates would be locked at dark.
Picking up her pace, she made her way to the floral department. She passed by the sedate arrangements in the cooler and stopped beside the random, cellophane-wrapped bunches of flowers in big plastic tubs. Twelve stems per bunch. She just couldn’t decide which mixture she liked best. Each one included something she loved. A bright yellow spider mum, the softness of green eucalyptus, the vivid blue of a bachelor’s-button … How could she decide?
Buy ’em all. You know you want to.
Such extravagance! Exactly what Stephen would have wanted.
Tish counted. Six bunches in one tub. Six in the other. At nearly ten dollars each? When she needed to be smart with her money?
But she had a wad of cash in her purse for the trip. More than she needed.
She wouldn’t be able to put more than a few of them in water, though, and what could she do with the rest? They’d wilt in no time without water.
They would wilt anyway.
She loaded the contents of both plastic tubs into her cart, balanced the flowers upright, then headed for the shortest checkout line. Through the window, she could see the sun breaching the horizon. Once the sun went down, it would be too late.
The man ahead of her didn’t seem to understand how to swipe a debit card. Hurry up, she mouthed soundlessly.
Stephen had often picked up flowers at this very store. She would forever wonder what kind he’d chosen, that last time.
Finally, the slowpoke finished his business and moved on. She handed one cellophane sleeve of flowers to the teenager at the register. “I have twelve of these,” she told him.
“Got it.”
Fast, efficient, and impersonal, he scanned the UPC code times twelve, handed the single bunch of flowers back, and gave her the total—all without really looking at her. She handed over the cash and took her change and receipt, all without really looking at him.
“That’s a lot of flowers,” he said, as if he’d finally noticed. “Big party?”
Wanting to cry, she met his eyes. He wasn’t as young as she’d first assumed. He was in his midtwenties, probably—about the age Stephen was when they’d met.
Her phone rang. Glad for the diversion, she pulled it out of her purse, mouthed a thank-you to the checker, and answered the call as she walked out of the store. It was someone from the mortgage company in Muldro, calling to confirm that she’d be there for the closing at five on Monday afternoon.
Tish decided not to mention the storms predicted for her first day of travel. She would get through it, one way or another.
“You bet,” she said. “I’m leaving early tomorrow morning. I’ll spend the night in Kentucky and pull into town late in the afternoon.”
“Perfect! Safe travels.”
“Thanks. See you then.”
Tish loaded the flowers gently into the backseat of her car. Climbing behind the wheel, she breathed in the scent of the flowers, then drove out of the parking lot and headed south on M-24. She tucked her phone in the console and ran down a mental checklist of everything she still had to accomplish before she left town.
Lost in her thoughts, she’d missed the turn. She hadn’t been there in a while. Wasting precious moments of daylight, she drove to the next light, made a U-turn, and went back to the side road she’d meant to turn on.
A quarter mile down, the metal gates still stood open. She pulled onto the narrow gravel road and followed it around three gentle bends, finally recognizing a cypress tree she used to use as a landmark. A few feet taller than she remembered it, the cypress swayed like a skinny dancer against the fading sunset.
She climbed out of her car and looked out at the flat farmland. An earlier generation of Hendersons had settled in the county long ago, and most of their descendants still farmed. The joke was that you couldn’t walk through town without bumping into someone with Henderson blood, and you couldn’t drive through the countryside without passing Henderson land.
She opened the rear door. Using the tiny knife on her key chain, she freed the flower stems from rubber bands and cellophane. Piled up in lovely abandon in the soft glow of the dome light, they did indeed look fit for a big party.
She filled her arms with flowers and carried them to Stephen’s grave. Working quickly, she began to spread them out from the head to the foot. It took her three trips in the fading light before she finally held the last few stems. It was so dark now she could hardly make out their colors.
A yellow lily. A stem of pale alstroemeria blossoms. A red rosebud.
She brought the rose to her lips. She’d be two hours down the road by the time the sun shed its first light on her farewell offering—if the sun came out at all.
A bird trilled in a nearby tree, and traffic kept up a steady hum on M-24. Life went on, as it had for over five years, without Stephen.
“I’ll never forget you,” she whispered against the soft petals of the rose.
She placed the last few stems close to the headstone, its lettering illegible in the twilight. She knew every inch of it, though. The dates bookmarked the life of Stephen David Henderson, who’d meant to marry her.
“Good-bye, Stephen,” she said, her voice loud in the silence. She groped for something more to say, but there was nothing. Her heart felt empty. Swept clean, like her apartment.
Straightening, she saw a trio of deer grazing in the distance. They looked peaceful. Graceful. Harmless.
She returned to her car. It still smelled like flowers. She started the engine and backed up, shining the headlights on the small mountain of blooms. Then she drove slowly toward the exit, knowing she would never visit the place again. She was bound for Alabama in the morning.
Mel wished she had one of those fancy backpacks so she could strap everything on it. She’d left Orlando in a hurry, though. No time to get organized. With her bedroll strapped to her back, she had to shift her duffel bag from one hand to the other. The jacket made the bag heavy. She’d known since last winter that she didn’t really need it in Florida. Still, she couldn’t just get rid of it. It was borrowed.
Her legs were so tired. One foot in front of another, she’d made her way south, changing her name along the way. Melissa. Melinda. No. Too close to her real name. Belinda? Yeah, she’d be Belinda for a while. She felt safer that way, like she was protecting her identity somehow.
She knew that didn’t make sense, though. Hitching a ride was dangerous, especially for a girl as scrawny as she was. If somebody killed her, her parents would never know. For them, it wouldn’t be any different from the last two years. Dead or alive, she was already gone.
Stopping for a minute, she pulled the jacket out of the bag and tied the sleeves around her waist. The bag was lighter as she walked on.
Her eyes on the ground, she knew there was a red light up ahead because traffic slowed. She turned and walked backward with her thumb jutting out, trying to look sweet and tough at the same time. Decent people wouldn’t pick up a girl who didn’t look sweet, but she had to let people know not to mess with her.
She tried to meet the eyes of the drivers, but nobody paid any attention except a guy in a little Honda. He honked and gave a friendly wave but kept going. Like that could help.
When the vehicles were at a dead stop, the drivers all ignoring her, she turned around and reached the corner just when the light turned green. She stepped into the crosswalk, and somebody gave her a wolf whistle.
Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten a real meal since that last night at Fishy’s just before she got fired. She was trying to save her cash. If she could find a campground that didn’t charge, she could roast some convenience-store hot dogs over a fire. That would be sort of cool, like the good ol’ days when she’d gone camping with Grandpa John.
She looked up at the cloudy sky. “Don’t be mad at me.”
Hitchhiking was one of the things he’d lectured her about. Hitchhiking, drugs, alcohol, sleeping around, smoking, and tattoos. She had done pretty well, considering.
About to cross the gravelly driveway of a cheapo used-car dealership, she heard a vehicle slowing behind her. She stopped, waiting for it to pass in front of her. It was a white pickup, really old and really small—and it slowed right beside her.
The driver leaned over and opened the passenger door. He had country music on his stereo. “Need a lift?”
She checked him out without moving closer. He was about thirty, maybe. Blue eyes. A nice smile. He wore a clean white T-shirt and jeans. He was a working man, because there were tools all over the floor of the truck.
“Where are you headed?” she asked.
“South a ways. Miami, eventually. How far do you want to go?”
She wanted him to think someone was expecting her to show up somewhere.
“Fort Lauderdale,” she said, hoping it made sense. She’d never been good with maps and directions.
“Cool. Throw your stuff in the back.”
She hesitated. Her cash was in the bag. Well, nobody was going to steal it when they were flying down the road, so she dropped the bag in the bed of the truck. She had to be more careful with her bedroll, though. She pulled it off her back and climbed in.
She shut the door, memorizing where the handle was in case she had to lunge for it in a hurry, later. “Thanks for the lift.”
“Sure.” He held out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Mitch.”
“Hi. I’m Belinda.” She settled the bedroll carefully in her lap.
So far, she wasn’t picking up bad vibes. He used his turn signal and checked his mirrors before he pulled onto the road. The tools on the floor reminded her of the hardworking mechanics at her dad’s dealership, but he wouldn’t put up with a mechanic who left his tools all over the place. Her dad never put up with much of anything.
The muscles in her legs started to relax, finally. It felt so good to sit down. It didn’t seem fair that she was out of work yet she still had to be on her feet all day.
She closed her eyes, remembering some of the jobs she’d had since she moved to Florida. They’d all kept her on her feet for hours. Picking strawberries. Working at a car wash. Cleaning cheap motel rooms. Bussing tables.
Her stomach growled. Embarrassed, she opened her eyes.
The guy laughed. “Hungry?”
“Yeah. Haven’t had breakfast.”
Maybe he’d buy her fast food somewhere. He didn’t offer, though, and she didn’t ask. She was afraid he would want something in return.
Neither of them talked for a while. Traffic was slow. They crawled past a Burger King. Even with the windows closed, the smell drove her crazy.
The black SUV ahead of them had decals all over the rear window, bragging about what a big happy family they were. Soccer, softball. A fish that said they listened to a nice, safe radio station. She wished she’d hitched a ride with them instead, but nice, safe families didn’t take chances on scruffy hitchhikers, so scruffy hitchhikers had to take their chances with anybody who looked decent.
Traffic started moving, and they flew through three or four green lights in the time it would have taken her to walk to just one of them. She looked out at the palm trees and the white birds that hung out in the roadside canals. Big clouds were building up for another afternoon thunderstorm, but she’d stay nice and dry in the truck.
Her stomach rumbled again. To cover the noise, she started talking.
“I wish people would take down their Christmas lights after New Year’s. It all looks so tacky after a while.”
“Yeah, it does. Did you have a nice Christmas with your folks?”
Her radar started buzzing. He wanted to know if she had folks. He wanted to know if anybody would miss her if she disappeared.
“We had fun. Good food, better booze. You like booze?”
“In the morning? No, thanks.” All of a sudden, her hands were sweaty. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to grip the door handle, but the truck was moving too fast now anyway.
“Gonna be a nice day today.” He moved his hand to her thigh, bumping her bedroll. She wanted to shove his hand away, but she didn’t want to make him mad.
“I guess.” She squirmed a little closer to the door. His hand moved with her, making her skin feel dirty through her thin leggings.
“Come on, sweetheart. Get back here.”
She held still. Didn’t move toward him, didn’t move away from him.
Way down the road, she saw another traffic light. It was green. She kept her eyes on it, willing it to turn yellow.
He was saying something. She tuned out the words but didn’t miss his tone.
The light changed. A few vehicles sped through the yellow, but the black SUV slowed for the red. The creep hit his brakes too. She braced herself, hugging her bedroll as they moved closer and closer to the SUV. She wanted to slap his hand off her leg, but she could stand it for about one more minute.
No. She couldn’t.
The truck was still moving when she opened the door and dived out with her bedroll. She landed with a hard thud, then slid down the slippery green grass on the bank, landing feet-first in a ditch full of trash and muddy water. She fought to keep the bedroll high and dry. Above her, a horn honked. Then the creep yelled something. A door slammed. Maybe he was coming after her.
She turned and splashed along in the ditch for a few feet, then slogged her way up the bank to the shoulder and ran, so close to the oncoming traffic that she was afraid she’d crash into somebody’s side mirror.
When she dared to look back, the light had changed. He’d kept going—with her duffel bag. She had her bedroll, though.
Breathing hard, Mel looked down at her water-splashed jacket and muddy leggings and sopping-wet shoes. Now she didn’t have anything dry to change into. And no cash except the ten bucks she’d tucked into her bra. All those hours she’d worked. For nothing.
At least now she knew which direction not to go. The white truck was going south, so she’d go north. Maybe she’d even head for home.
Instead of putting her bedroll on her back again, she hugged it to her front and kept walking. First chance she had, she’d stop somewhere and move her treasures into her shirt pocket. That would be safer than the bedroll.
She kept trudging down the road, passing a church and a school and a preschool. None of those places would want her.
Once in a while, somebody honked. Most people ignored her, and she didn’t blame them. She looked like a bum.
Sometimes nice-looking people were creeps, and sometimes people who looked like bums were just doing the best they could.