Remember to Forget (7 page)

Now that she’d broken loose, she had a hard time seeing why she hadn’t done it sooner. Of course, she
had
run away, more than once, after one of Kevin’s particularly brutal tongue-lashings. But even when she’d made it to a women’s shelter once, she’d always known deep inside that she’d end up back with Kevin. The only reason she’d taken refuge at the shelter was because she’d hoped it would finally make him realize what he was doing to her, make him appreciate what he had. In the end, it had accomplished none of that. If anything, it had made things worse. Made
him
worse.

She wondered now if men like Kevin ever appreciated another person—
any
other person. No. The mental self-lecture began. Men like him lived only for themselves. Kevin was no different than her father. Though she barely remembered the man, she somehow knew her father was to blame for what had happened to Mom. Maggie herself should have learned that hard lesson long ago. Now she’d wasted two years of
her life. This time she wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking Kevin had changed. This time she wouldn’t go back.

She thought of her sister again, and her heart sank to her feet. She couldn’t call Jenn. At least not until she was sure Kevin had quit looking for her. She shot up a muddled prayer that Jenn would somehow know she was all right. With Mark seemingly out of a job every other week, Jenn had enough to worry about without wasting time fretting over a runaway sister.

When she mouthed a silent
amen
, a shiver rippled through her. She leaned to gaze out at the heathery night sky. She’d tried to pray before, and it had seemed a superstitious exercise at best. But now she dared to hope her prayer for Jenn had reached the heavens.

Their simple touches seemed deeply intimate—something she had no right to witness, but something she longed to know.

Chapter Eight

M
aggie yawned and stretched on the seat of the VW bus as Rick Henry pulled into the parking lot of a small diner and cut the engine. The clock on the dashboard flipped from 3:59 to four o’clock. Was it only yesterday—twenty-four hours ago—that she’d left the apartment in New York? It seemed like an eternity.

Rick reached across the seat and brushed the hair from Sandy’s forehead. “Hey, Sleepin’ Beauty. How about some breakfast?” He pointed with his fingers laced over the steering wheel. “Place up ahead open twenty-four hours.”

Sandy’s eyes flew open and a drowsy smile grew. “Mmm . . . sounds good.” She patted her husband’s cheek. “What time is it anyway?”

“It’s only four, but I gotta have some coffee if I’m gonna stay on the road.”

“You want me to drive, babe?”

The couple’s affectionate exchange warmed Maggie even as it made her squirm. Their simple touches seemed deeply intimate—something she had no right to witness, but something she longed to know.

As if Sandy had just remembered they had a passenger, she turned in her seat and gave a little wave. “Mornin’. Did you get some sleep?”

Maggie nodded, feeling very much a fifth wheel. Sandy climbed out and opened Maggie’s door. She eased her achy legs to the curb, stretched, and followed the couple into the diner.

The clock over the bar counter reminded her that it was now Wednesday morning. She could barely believe she’d lived for one day without Kevin. And he without her. Did he feel as liberated from her as she did from him right now?

Rick ordered the short stack with bacon and eggs for the three of them, waiting while Maggie told the waitress how she wanted her eggs.

Rick shook out his napkin and tucked it in the neck of his shirt. “So, Meg, what takes you to Ohio?”

She took a long drink from her water glass, stalling. “I’m just visiting.”

“Oh?” Sandy smiled. “You have family there?”

“No . . . friends.” She gave a quick smile, then glanced away.

“That’s nice.” Sandy ran her fingers over the Formica tabletop. “What part of Columbus do they live in?”

Maggie cast about for an answer that wouldn’t give her away. “I’m not sure. I-I don’t really know the town that well.”

“You have an address though,” Rick said, more a statement than a question.

Sandy’s voice took on a motherly timbre. “Did you find out where to meet the bus for your luggage?”

“My luggage?” For a minute, she’d forgotten the story she’d told them about her bags being on the bus. “Oh, yeah. I have a number to call.”

Sandy rummaged in a huge leather purse. She came up with a cell phone and handed it across the table to Maggie. “Here, you can use my phone.”

“No . . . I mean, I already called.” Lies were rolling off her tongue like buses out of Port Authority.

“Oh, that’s good.”

Maggie nodded and looked past Sandy to see the waitress approaching with a loaded tray. She prayed it was their order. Again she had that odd sensation that heaven was suddenly hearing her prayers, for the waitress stopped at their table and slid overflowing plates in front of each of them.

At the fragrant steam of pancakes and maple syrup Rick and Sandy seemed to forget their interrogation.

They ate their food in silence, Rick and Sandy engrossed in the morning newspaper they’d picked up in the lobby, and Maggie concentrating on each morsel she lifted to her mouth. She didn’t know when a meal had tasted so good. They hadn’t even looked at menus, but a cardboard tent propped between the salt and pepper listed the short stack at $3.99. She calculated what the meal would be with a tip. After their waitress refilled their coffee cups, Maggie excused herself and followed the woman to the register.

“Can I get the check for our table?”

“Sure.” The woman scrounged in the pocket of her uniform until she came up with the right ticket. She rang it up while Maggie peeled a ten and a five from the wad of bills in her pocket. It would deplete her cash seriously, but it was the least she could do for the couple who’d helped her get almost five hours farther down the road—away from Kevin.

With the receipt in her pocket, she followed the signs to the rest room at the back of the diner. She brushed her teeth and combed her hair, glad she’d thought to buy those things at the first bus stop. She worked her hair into a wispy French braid, cringing to discover that her hair was greasy enough to stay braided without a rubber band. When she got back to the table, the Henrys were standing by their table, in animated conversation with another couple about their age.

She nodded and started to slip back into the booth. Rick interrupted
himself, stopping her with an upraised hand. “Meg, this is Ted and Corinne Blakely. They’re old friends of ours. Can you believe we just happened to stop at the same diner for breakfast? Especially this time of morning?”

“Hi.” Maggie gave a weak smile, wishing she’d stayed in the rest room a few minutes longer. She slid behind Sandy into the booth.

While the husbands and wives carried on simultaneous and noisy conversations, she felt as if she were eavesdropping. She pleated accordion folds into her napkin and rearranged her silverware on the empty plate, as if these were tasks of great importance.

“Did you hear that, Meg?”

She lifted her head at Rick’s effusive question. “Sorry . . . no.”

“Ted and Corinne are going through Columbus. They said you’d be welcome to ride on with them.” A satisfied grin split his face, as though he’d just handed her an expensive gift.

And in truth, he had. “Really?” She sought Mrs. Blakely’s eyes, trying to read the sincerity there. What she saw was the kindest, most welcoming expression she could have hoped for.

“Of course. We’d love to have the company. Wouldn’t we, Ted?”

Her husband nodded but looked pointedly at his watch. “We’re kind of needing to get on the road. We’re headed on to Kansas City, and our daughter’s expecting us for a late supper. We’ll pick up I-70, but whereabouts in Columbus do you need to go?”

“Oh, you can drop me off anywhere. I . . . my friends can come and get me wherever you drop me off.”

“Well, we’ll see how the time goes,” Ted Blakely said, checking his watch again. “Maybe your friends can meet us somewhere. Don’t want to leave you stranded.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m grateful for the ride.”

Mr. Blakely turned to the Henrys and offered his hand. “Sure good to run into you guys.”

They exchanged warm good-byes, then Mr. Blakely turned to Maggie. “We’ll drive over to where Rick is parked and get your bags.”

Rick stepped in to explain, saving her from repeating the lie.

“Well, all right then. This way.” He took his wife’s arm and ushered her toward the exit. Maggie followed.

“Good luck to you, Meg.” Rick tipped his Stetson.

“Thank you for everything.”

“Glad to help,” Rick and Sandy said as one.

Mr. Blakely held the door for her, and from the corner of her vision, she saw the Henrys walk toward the cashier.

She was torn between wanting to hurry out to the Blakelys’ car before Rick and Sandy discovered she’d paid for their meals, and wanting to go back and say good-bye and a proper thank-you. An odd lump rose in her throat as the door swung closed and the Henrys disappeared from sight. Was she so needy that she’d formed an attachment to complete strangers in the space of a few hours?

The Blakelys drove a small Toyota. Half of the backseat was packed with cardboard boxes, but Ted Blakely transferred them to the trunk before motioning for her to climb inside.

“Are you sure you got everything, Ted?” Mrs. Blakely turned to Maggie. “All my garage-sale goodies are back there . . . stuff I picked up for our grandkids.” Mrs. Blakely’s voice was apologetic, but her eyes bright with pride.

“Oh? How many grandchildren do you have?” Maybe if she could get them talking about themselves, they wouldn’t ask her too many questions.

“We have six and one on the way. Only two of them are in Kansas City though. The others live in Buffalo . . . just an hour from us.”

Her ploy worked. The woman turned and propped an elbow over the back of the seat. For the next fifty miles, she prattled on about her family. Maggie tried to follow the detailed descriptions of the grandchildren, tried to smile in the appropriate places, but she soon felt herself grow drowsy. She eased into the corner of the backseat and rested her head against the window, her eyelids weighing heavy and Mrs. Blakely’s chatter mingling with the noises of the highway.

Maggie dialed the bogus number and crossed her fingers that it was invalid.

Chapter Nine