Before approaching one of trucks in the parking lot, the woman spent a few minutes in the restroom cleaning the blood off her face. She’d have a black eye in the morning for sure. She touched her nose gingerly, tried to assess the damage, then studied herself in the mirror, rearranging her tangled hair as she struggled to bring her chaotic thoughts into focus. The pills seemed to be helping. She eventually gave up trying to figure out what was going on and instead decided to concentrate on finding a ride.
Walking up to a guy who was about climb into the cab of his truck, she asked him where he was headed. When he responded Fargo, she asked if he might be going through the Twin Cities.
“Here to Eau Clair, then I-94 through the Twin Cities, and finally up the interstate to Fargo,” he said.
She asked if she could hitch a ride. He thought about it for a few seconds, looked her over a little, then said she could.
Once in the cab, before they drove off, she took an envelope out of her pocket, the only piece of evidence she had that suggested a possible destination. She asked the driver if he knew the address.
Flipping on an overhead light, he took a look. “I think so. It’s close to downtown Minneapolis.”
“Any chance you could drop me off near there?”
“Don’t see why not.”
The driver, a burly, middle-aged man with a dark tattoo peeking out from under the right cuff of an old Pendleton, didn’t say much for the first few miles. Eventually, he glanced her way and said, “Your husband do that to you?” He nodded to her face.
“No.”
“Boyfriend then? A lot of shit happens around the holidays. Not that it’s an excuse. I’d give anything to be home with my wife and kids tonight.”
“Where are you from?”
“Cedar Rapids, Iowa.”
He tried to get her to open up and talk about what the problems were, said he was a good listener, but she put him off by explaining that she needed to close her eyes, try to get some sleep. She ended up dozing most of the way. When she finally sat up and looked around, the driver said they were on the outskirts of Minneapolis.
Watching quietly as the lights whizzed past, the woman took out the envelope she’d discovered back at the truck stop. The return address was the only indication she had that she might know someone in the city. If it turned out to be a dead end, then she was at a complete loss for what to do next. Along with the envelope, she’d found a bottle of painkillers and a twenty-dollar bill. Her billfold, which would have answered so many questions, appeared to be gone.
After climbing out of the cab near a Holiday station, she thanked the driver and wished him a good trip up to Fargo. She stood on the sidewalk, blowing on her hands, watching her safe, warm cocoon gear off into the night, leaving her feeling adrift and utterly alone.
Limping into the gas station, she asked the man behind the counter if she could use his phone to call a cab. He offered to call one for her. Stoically assessing her banged-up face, he tapped in a number and spoke in a heavily accented voice, giving the address.
Snow had begun falling about an hour ago. Limping outside to wait, the woman felt suddenly nauseous and dizzy. The cab driver took his time, but finally appeared. She gave him the address and asked if twenty dollars would get her there. He answered that it would.
After easing into the backseat, she pressed a hand to her mouth, hoping like hell her stomach calmed down. The modest houses quickly gave way to more upscale homes. Stopping a few minutes later at the end of a cul-de-sac, the driver turned around and held out his hand for the twenty. The ride had cost almost eighteen dollars. She asked for two dollars back.
“Are you kidding me?”
“It’s all the money I have.”
He gave her a disgusted look as he handed back a couple of ones.
Stepping out into the snow, the woman checked the address on the envelope against the number above the front door. It wasn’t really a house. It looked more like a mini English abbey.
Standing under the deep front portico, she rang the bell. Lights were on all over the house. Half a dozen cars were parked in the circular drive. It wasn’t a stretch to conclude that a party might be going on inside, which meant that it wasn’t exactly great timing for an uninvited guest.
She was about to ring the bell again when a giant woman in a red-sequined flapper outfit drew back the door.
“Janey, where the hell have you been? I’ve been texting you for hours. Get in here.” Motioning with a jeweled lorgnette, the owner of the abbey held the door open, tapping her foot impatiently. “Couldn’t you dress up a little? I mean, ripped jeans? Your fashion sense astounds.”