It was amazing, the depth of courage a mother could find when the life of her child was on the line. Eden Martelli frowned at the map on the console beside her. She was somewhere northeast of Bar Harbor, following the coastline on Route 1. She’d made a wrong turn somewhere—it was starting to become a way of life.
She focused on the highway that stretched ahead, the weight of fatigue pushing on her shoulders. How many hours since her last catnap? It would be heaven to stretch out on a hotel bed for a few hours.
Micah slept against the passenger door, his lovey, Boo Bear, clutched in his arms. He had his days and nights mixed up. She wished he could see the pretty harbors and the colorful lobster buoys that dotted the water.
She checked her rearview mirror. The green minivan had been behind them since Ellsworth, a young woman driver with two kids in the back.
The engine made a loud clunking sound, and Eden frowned at the gauges. She had half a tank of gas, and the motor wasn’t running hot. The Buick was twenty-three years old, just two years younger than she was. She’d picked it up for a grand in Jacksonville, Florida. It wasn’t much, but then, it only had to get them to Loon Lake, Maine.
She’d risked a phone call to Karen on a burner phone that she’d since trashed. The woman had been surprised to hear from her. They hadn’t spoken since Karen and her daughter had moved to Sacramento during Eden’s senior year. Karen had been like a mother to her. Her property up in Loon Lake was sitting empty, she’d said. She was thinking of selling it. “Of course you can stay there awhile. No, I won’t mention it to anyone.”
So they had someplace to go. A place no one knew about. And they were almost there. She’d get them new identities, new lives.
She’d pawned her wedding set when they passed through Atlanta. God knew, they hadn’t given her what it was worth, but it was enough to buy them time while she got WhiteBox Designs back up and running. She’d had to abandon her clients, but she’d do whatever was necessary to win them back.
A loud clattering sounded, making Eden’s heart seize. The noise continued for several moments before blue smoke began billowing from beneath the hood.
No. No, no, no! Leave it to you to buy a lemon, Eden. You’re hopeless.
She eased off the accelerator but the clattering continued, and the smell of burning oil reached her nose. She put on her flashers, and a moment later the minivan passed.
There was nothing around but hills and trees. She’d gone through a town awhile back, but if she’d passed a service station, she hadn’t noticed. Her mind had been elsewhere for miles, making plans.
So much for that, she thought, watching blue smoke drift past. She spotted a green sign ahead and squinted through the smoke.
SUMMER HARBOR 5 MILES, it read.
The sign pointed right, and seeing little choice, Eden took the turn. She hoped the town was big enough to have a garage. She only had fifteen hundred dollars after the purchase of the car, and she was counting on that for her new start.
Her heart clamored inside her chest. This can’t be happening. They were so close. The clattering continued, so she kept a slow pace, hoping she wasn’t ruining the engine. It began to snow, big, wet flakes splashing onto her windshield, further hampering her vision.
What was she going to do?
First things first, Eden. Find a garage. Get an estimate.
Maybe it was something simple like a loose hose or wire. Or something cheap. Maybe a friendly mechanic would take one look at her hollow eyes and her quiet son and have mercy on them.
The two-lane road was hilly and curvy, and the five miles seemed to take forever. Finally, she passed a sign. WELCOME TO SUMMER HARBOR, INC. 1895. Houses popped up on the left and right as the road wound along the coast.
The road dipped and leveled as they entered the town proper. Summer Harbor looked like a Christmas postcard with quaint little shops and old-fashioned lamps, all of it glimmering under a fresh layer of snow. She caught a glimpse of the rocky coastline as she rounded a curve, keeping her eyes peeled for a service station.
On a different day, a different time, she might enjoy a visit here. Preferably during the summer when she imagined the wharf bustled with lobster boats and tourists. Though the town had a certain charm even now, primed for a festive Christmas season.
There! She spied a gas station with a tiny garage, tucked down a lane. She turned into the parking lot and shut off the engine. The sudden silence was profound.
She hated to awaken Micah. He hadn’t slept soundly since they’d fled. She touched his shoulder, and he startled awake. His body stiffened as reality settled once again on his little shoulders, and his eyes widened in that frightened-doe look she was starting to hate. No child of five should have to endure the things he had.
“Hey, kiddo. We’re having a little car trouble. Let’s get out and stretch our legs, okay?” She pulled their jackets from her book bag and helped Micah slip into his.
As she headed toward the garage, she pulled her cap low over her newly cut hair, checking over her shoulder as they hustled toward the door. She pulled up Micah’s hood and gathered him close.
There was only one guy in the building. He was sitting behind the register with his feet propped on the counter, working his iPhone with practiced fingers. He looked no older than a teenager with his boyish face, though he was making a valiant attempt at a beard.
He looked up, his pale cheeks flushing as his eyes cut to hers. He lowered his feet and sat up straight. “Hi there. How can I help you?”
She gave her best friendly smile. “I’m having some car trouble, and I’m in a bit of a hurry. Any chance someone could check it out?”
“Sorry. Our mechanic’s off today. He’ll be in Monday, though.”
Her heart thumped to the floor of her chest cavity. “Is there another garage I can try? I’m really hoping to get back on the road.”
He shrugged. “I’m afraid we’re it.”
She bit her lip. She should’ve stayed on the main road. Way to go, Eden. Another one of your stupid decisions.
“Well, hey, I can’t fix your car or nothing, but I know a little about engines. I could take a peek.”
She gave him a grateful look. “Really? Would you? I’d appreciate that so much. Maybe it’s just a loose hose or something, and I can be on my way.”
He followed her out to the car, Micah hugging close to her side. She explained the thunk and the clattering sound. The smell of burned oil still hung in the air, and a bit of smoke escaped as he lifted the hood.
She bit her lip as she watched him look around. After a few minutes he started the car, listening for a moment before shutting it off and getting back out. “I think you’ve thrown a rod.”
“What does that mean?”
He gave her a regretful look. “It’s not good. You’ll need to have the engine rebuilt.”
“Rebuilt! How much does that run?”
“I’m not really authorized to—”
“Just a best guess. Please. I won’t hold you to it.”
He sighed, his cheeks flushing. “Normally somewhere between a grand and fifteen hundred.”
All the air left her lungs.
“It really depends on the engine, and I’m not qualified to give an estimate. Sorry it’s not better news. Wish I could help you.”
“Can I drive it like this? If I take it slow?”
“How far?”
“Four, maybe five hours?”
He shook his head. “Driving it’ll only cause more damage. And if the rod tears through the side of the engine block, you could have a serious fire on your hands.”
Eden sighed. She couldn’t risk that. She’d have to wait till Monday for an official estimate, which meant spending two nights here.
“Looks like you’ll be stuck here through the storm.”
“What storm?”
“Six to eight inches, they’re saying. First of the season.” Fuhst. His Mainer accent peeking through. “Snow’s supposed to go all night and all day tomorrow. There’s a hotel just down the street, left on Main. Good café close by, too, Frumpy Joe’s, if you’re hungry. The Roadhouse is a bit of a walk, but it has great chowder.” He smiled at Micah. “You like snow? We got some nice hills around here for sledding. The inn might have a sled you can borrow.”
Micah buried his face into Eden’s side.
“Can I leave the car here? And I can get an estimate Monday?”
“Sure, no problem. Let me get your name and number.”
“Oh . . . I’ll just stop back by. Thanks again for your help.”