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Kara sat across from U.S. Marshal Whittier at the small table in her hotel room. Whittier was in his late fifties. With the persona of a middle school vice principal and a radio announcer voice, he made her feel like a school girl.
“I’m here on behalf of the agency,” he said. “Now that you’re finished with your testimony, I’m here to help you transition into your new life.” Whittier’s gray caterpillar eyebrows furrowed. “When I’m satisfied you’re ready, we’ll get you to your new home and you can start building a life.”
Her pulse quickened. She squeezed her hands together under the table. The moment she’d been waiting for—the moment that would take her from purgatory to the land of the living—was finally here. The weeks of testimony had been hell. Dare she hope for redemption?
Whittier passed a manila envelope across the table. “Enclosed are all the documents you’ll need for your new life: passport, social security card, birth certificate. Your nursing license has been changed from your old name to your new one. However, you’re not licensed in the state you’re being sent to, so you’ll have to take the state boards and such, which won’t be any trouble if your past grades and test scores are any indications. I’ve included a thumb drive with your resume and other documents that you’ll need to get started. We’ve changed your transcripts from Penn State to George Mason University. If anyone were to check, it would look like you attended George Mason for both your undergraduate and graduate degrees under your new name, Kara Eaton.”
“Kara Eaton?” Eaton. She repeated it in her mind several times, trying it on for size. How would she ever remember who she was supposed to be now? What if she signed the wrong name?
“That’s correct. Your name is Kara Eaton now. There will be no trace of Kara Boggs. It will be like you never existed.”
“I get to keep my first name though. That’s helpful.” She cringed at the pitiful tone in her voice. Was this what it had come down to? Grateful for her own name?
“Yes. We’ve found it’s better that way, as it makes you less likely to slip up when someone’s calling to you.” He continued, rote and unemotional, like he gave someone a new identity every day. Perhaps he did. This is his job. He snatches people from their lives and thrusts them into new ones.
“We’ve found a small apartment for you in the California seaside town of Cliffside Bay. My understanding is that it’s about an hour north of San Francisco with a population of around five thousand people. Few people move there or move out. It’s a sleepy little town. Unusually sleepy.”
“The seaside?” A kernel of hope popped inside her chest. The sea? She would live by the ocean. Salt and surf were sure to heal her wounds.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s a small place most people have never heard of. Rumor has it the residents don’t want anyone to find their town. They take down roadside signs and such. The state of California finds it annoying, but it’s the perfect place to disappear.”
“Is it warm there?” Kara asked.
“Marin County is cool and damp in the winter months with an average temperature somewhere in the forties. Summers are in the upper seventies. Fall and spring somewhere in between. Quite a bit of rain. A lot of fog. You can’t ask for better.” His lips twitched. “My boss made sure to place you someplace good. He says you’ve been through a lot.”
“Please thank him for me.” The kindness of the men and women who made up this agency made her want to cry, especially considering the ugliness they must witness every day.
“Your apartment is nothing more than a room and a bathroom, but it’s right in town. There weren’t many rentals, so it was the best we could do on short notice. It’s up to you to find a job, and rather quickly. We have a stipend for you, but it won’t last long.” Whittier frowned as he flipped through a small notebook. “There is a doctor’s office, but only one. Whether they have an opening for a nurse practitioner is anyone’s guess. Otherwise, you can look for work elsewhere. If you decide to move to another town, however, you must notify us.”
“Right. Yes, sir.” Starting over. New home. New town. New job. What if she couldn’t find anything?
His stern features softened as his eyebrows loosened to form two caterpillars instead of one. “I’m sorry, Kara. I know this is hard.”
No, you don’t. You get to keep your job that you probably worked so hard for. She nodded and managed a smile. “Thanks. I’m grateful for the new start.”
“Okay, well, let’s get started on the transition. Tonight, after I leave, you’re to memorize the details of your made-up past. When I come back tomorrow, I’ll quiz you. Once you’ve passed the test, you’ll be ready to go.”
“How long does it usually take?” Kara asked.
“Maybe a few days. Maybe a few weeks. Depends on the person. Also, you’ll need to practice your signature until it becomes second nature.”
A few weeks? Alone in this hotel room. Kara fought back tears.
Whittier continued. “You must never contact anyone from your past. You are never to come back to Philadelphia, or your former schools, or the hospital where you’ve worked for eight years, or any of the places where your father had homes. You must remember that you are to never, and I mean never, under any circumstances, tell anyone about your real past. The only times we’ve lost witnesses in this program have been when they’ve broken the rules.”
“Yes, they explained all this to me before,” Kara said.
Whittier nodded but went on with his speech anyway. “The hardest part will be when—if—you fall in love. You’ll want to tell him, or her, all your secrets. Do not. I repeat, do not. Because, sad to say, most people break up and when they do, it gives your ex a whole lot of ammunition with which to hurt you. Do you understand?”
Kara nodded. “I understand.” She wouldn’t fall in love. She could never have an intimate relationship based on lies. Her whole life was about to become one big fat lie.
***
KARA ARRIVED IN SAN Francisco on a red-eye flight from the East Coast with Marshal Rawlings in the seat next to her. Together, they collected an angry Minnie from an airport employee. The kitty didn’t appreciate being thrust into a carrier and made to fly across the country, and she protested her entrapment with a series of pitiful mews as she pressed her pink nose into the air holes of her temporary prison. “It’s all right, kitty. We’re almost there.”
While they waited for her suitcases at the baggage claim, Kara slipped a handful of treats into the carrier. Minnie shushed, temporarily sidetracked from her vocal grievances. When they’d grabbed her bags, a second U.S. Marshal approached and introduced herself as Thames. “I’m to take you to your destination this morning, Miss Eaton.” Thames was a young African American woman with a methodical pace in both gait and speech that calmed Kara. It would be fine. She would be fine. She had to be.
Kara turned to Rawlings and held out her hand. “Thank you, Deputy Rawlings.” She almost choked on the lump that had developed in the back of her throat. Ridiculous, since she barely knew him, and he’d said no more than two sentences the entire flight. But he was her last connection to her old life.
Rawlings nodded at her. “Good luck, ma’am.”
Thames took hold of the suitcases and indicated with a succinct nod that Kara should follow her. A black sedan waited at the curbside. Thames ushered Kara and Minnie into the back seat and placed the bags in the trunk. The driver didn’t make eye contact.
“We’ll drive you to your new car and give you further instructions,” Thames said.
“Sure.” Kara’s eyes burned from exhaustion. She might sell a body part for a warm meal and a bed.
The clock on the dashboard indicated it was just before 5 a.m., and it was still dark. Rain splattered the windshield as they merged onto the freeway. Kara shivered despite her fleece jacket. As Thames went through the final instructions, including her new address and bank account information, morning emerged in shades of gray. Thames gave her a set of keys to the apartment and new car, plus a debit card and pin number. Lastly, she handed Kara a new cell phone. “Everything’s been set up with your new name and address.” They drove in silence for fifteen minutes or so before the sedan turned into the parking lot of a park and ride.
“Just over there is your new car. It’s registered in your name. You’re paid up for the next few months,” Thames said.
Kara squinted, trying to see through the rain. It was a sedan of some sort. Generic. Like me.
“Do you have any questions before I go?” Thames asked.
“No, I don’t think so.” She shuddered. Now that it was time to go, she resembled Minnie that time she’d escaped from the condo. The moment the kitty had arrived on the sidewalk, she’d frozen, not sure whether to go forward or back. Either choice terrified her.
“We’ll call every so often to check on you. Remember, we’ve never lost anyone who kept to the rules. Keep it simple. Kara Boggs never existed. Your old life never happened. Stick to your new storyline. Don’t trust anyone with your secrets. Keep track of your lies. And, no matter how tempted you are, or how drunk you get one night, do not call anyone from your past. I can’t emphasize this enough. You slip up, and you will die.”
“I got it.” After all this, she wasn’t going to risk death.
Kara picked up Minnie’s carrier and slipped out of the sedan. The driver had already put her bags in the trunk of her new car. She watched the black sedan drive away. When they were gone, she attached a leash to Minnie’s collar and guided her over to a patch of dirt. Like she always did when Kara attached the leash to Minnie’s collar, the cat ambled, mostly likely to emphasize that she didn’t want to run away even if she could because she made the rules, not her mistress. Minnie plopped onto the wet dirt and stretched to her full length and stared up at Kara with a haughty expression. Her tail twitched. She yawned. I’ve got all day, lady.
“Fine, I won’t watch.” Kara turned away and soon heard the scratching sounds of Minnie covering her deposits. She walked Minnie back to the car and settled her into the passenger seat with treats and a new toy. “Not because you’ve been good, either, so don’t get any ideas.”
Minnie crunched on a treat without an upward glance.
Before she got behind the wheel, Kara breathed in the damp air of her new world and said a silent prayer. God help me to be brave, to start new, to be grateful.
Goodbye Kara Boggs.
***
BY THE TIME KARA REACHED the Golden Gate Bridge, the morning commute was in full force. Traffic crept. Horns blared. Drivers gave one another the finger. Men in BMW sport sedans cut people off. These were the sights and sounds of her old morning commute to the hospital. Traffic was the same everywhere, only this time she was on the Golden Gate Bridge. A tinge of anticipation fluttered in her stomach. She’d never been out west. This wasn’t how she thought she’d do it, but still, it thrilled her to see the city she’d only seen in film or television. For the first time, a sense of freedom invaded her sadness. The complexities of her family relationships were a thing of the past. She was free to start fresh, to build healthy relationships.
Even before she discovered the truth, her relationship with her father had been a push and pull of manipulation. Her father was a man who believed money could provide anything you wanted, even redemption. Perhaps he’d assumed if she ever learned the truth, his money would trump any innate desire she had for morality.
Put it aside for now. God, she was sick of examining it all, piecing it all together for the authorities and then at court. Be here in the moment.
This was a fresh start. A chance for reinvention. A chance to live.
Her new car had satellite radio. She found an eighties station and turned it up loud. She looked over at Minnie to see if she experienced similar enthusiasm, but her fur baby was curled into a ball fast asleep, probably exhausted from her cross-country mews and grateful to be out of her confinement.
The sun peeked through the clouds as she exited the city and began the climb up the curvy coastal highway. After twenty miles or so, the fog dissipated and the blue sea appeared. At the highest peak, she stopped at a public viewpoint. She leaned against the railing and breathed in the fresh air. A fierce wind whipped her hair about her face and it stuck to her lip gloss. To her left and right, the outline of the coast arched like the curve of a swan’s neck. In front of her, the ocean spread far and wide, ending with its marriage to the sky. Only the subtle variation of blue indicated where one began and the other ended.
This was California. Her new home. She needed sunglasses. Her last pair was still in Philadelphia with the rest of her things. She hadn’t thought to pack them when there was three feet of snow piled on the ground. Do not think of it. Face forward, not backward. California was sure to have sunglasses, probably at every roadside stop. No snow here. Suddenly anxious to arrive at her destination, she got back into the car and drove onward.
She was about twenty miles from Cliffside Bay when she came upon a little town, if one could call it that as it was no more than half a dozen buildings huddled together on the side of the hill. Was this the size of Cliffside Bay? She hoped not.
She tied Minnie to the bench in front of the miniature grocery store and went inside.
The clerk nodded as she stopped near a case of prepackaged sandwiches. “Just made this morning,” he called out to her.
Kara thanked him and scanned the offerings. There were two varieties: chicken and avocado or cheese and avocado. She picked the chicken and turned to the case with drinks. The scent of overripe produce and mildew sucked her into a sudden memory. She and her mother were at the neighborhood fruit stand near their house in Upstate New York. Kara wasn’t tall enough to see into the fruit bins, so she stood near her mom’s tanned, bare legs. Mom hummed the tune playing on the radio under her breath. Journey? Or REO Speedwagon? She couldn’t remember now.
Pain pierced her chest like a knitting needle stabbed into her heart, remembering the way she’d learned of her mother’s murder. The FBI agent’s voice echoed through her mind. “We believe he ordered a hit on her, Kara. Her car accident was not an accident.” She leaned against the glass refrigerator. A single sob choked her. Would she ever be able to think of it without unleashing a cry of anguish?
He’d killed her. It was not an accident.
Fresh air. She needed to fill her lungs with sea air. Let it wash away the memories.
Outside, she sat on the bench. Minnie meowed and moved closer to rub against her ankles. Across the highway, the ocean remained a steady blue. Several aging hippies with long, gray hair and faded t-shirts passed by while she ate a sandwich of avocado, chicken, and sprouts on eight-grain bread as thick as her wrist. Did they not realize the Age of Aquarius was over in 1973? A breeze brought the faint scent of marijuana. It was legal here. She’d forgotten that. Not in Kansas anymore, Toto.
Minnie toyed with a beetle she’d found in the dirt.
“We’re not in Philly anymore, Minnie.”
The cat looked up at her and meowed before returning to the beetle.
The landscape of blues and greens and browns melded together in harmonious beauty. Kara closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face. They could have sent her anywhere, but they chose here. Thank God.
She vowed to find a way to be happy again. Her mother would want her to live her life as fully as possible. It was the only revenge for her death.
***
WHAT WENT UP MUST COME down. The next twenty miles of the coastal highway gradually descended until the GPS told her to turn off the highway onto a two-lane road. There was no sign to indicate whether this was Cliffside Bay, but she assumed the GPS knew. She smiled, remembering what the deputy had told her about the residents. They’d taken down the highway sign. No one in or out. They would have to accept at least one refugee this year.
The road led her into town. The main street of Cliffside Bay was quaint, if a little weathered by the salt air. She drove past a church with an old-fashioned steeple, and a bar and grill called The Oar. Colorful kites hung in the window of a surf shop. Maybe she’d learn to surf. Surely someone in town gave lessons. A new sport would be good for her. A used bookstore promised half-price books and strong coffee. Doctor Jon Waller’s Family Practice was next to Miss Rita’s Dance Studio. Did the doctor need a nurse practitioner? Maybe the dance studio had Zumba? She would find out right away. Replacing the five classes she did weekly at home might be a possibility after all. Flowers spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of a small grocery store.
Her new home was at the back of an old house that had been turned into apartments—Apt. D. She used the key to let herself inside. The moment she walked in, her heart sank. This apartment was no more than a room and tiny bathroom. A hot plate and miniature refrigerator acted as a kitchen. A double bed and chair were the only furniture. At least the bed was made up with sheets and a comforter that looked new. As exhausted as she felt, she doubted the mattress would make much difference.
She let Minnie off the leash. Like she’d been imprisoned for years, the cat ran around the room and leapt onto each piece of furniture. She sniffed the floor, the chair, and the bed. Finding them adequate, she jumped onto the bed, curled in a ball, and went to sleep.
“So much for your company.”
The room smelled of damp earth. She shivered as she examined the heater. A radiator? When had she last seen one of those as a heat source? She sank onto the bed next to Minnie. No tears. She’d shed enough. Time to make a new life. First order of business: take a nap. After a nap and a shower, she would set out to find gainful employment. Or, at least for today, some place to eat dinner.