This goes on for a while. But no matter which way I argue it in my head, I won’t rest or be able to move forward until I know why she left me. It will eat away at me.
Maybe finding my mother will finally help me figure out who I am. Give me closure or something. And I have the free time. School is out for summer break. The time could help me figure out what to do with my life, and finding her might help me find myself.
Since Oliver died, I’ve just carried on with the life he set for me. This is my chance to break free and change things.
I don’t even have to go back to Boston if I don’t want to. Yes, I have my apartment there, but that’s not going anywhere, and I could eventually sell it—shit! Goodwill is coming today to collect Oliver’s things.
I dive for my bag and get my cell. I turn it on and ignore the notifications of texts and voicemails from Forbes. I place a call to the lawyer who is handling the house sale.
Voicemail. Too early for anyone to be in the office. I leave a message, explaining that I’ve had to leave town for a few days, and asking if they can arrange for someone to be there to let Goodwill in the house.
I hang up and turn my cell off. The last thing I want to do is hear any of Forbes’ cruel words.
With a plan in hand, I dress quickly, cringing that I have to wear yesterday’s things. I need to make a stop and get some new clothes and underwear.
I tie my hair into a ponytail, put my sunglasses on, and check out of the motel.
In my car, I tap ‘Durango, Colorado’ into the GPS.
Wow. Okay, so this going to be one hell of a long drive.
I consider for a moment flying to Colorado, but then I decide I want to leave no trace for Forbes to follow. Not that I think airports give out that type of information, but Forbes can be very persuasive when he wants to be, and I just don’t want to risk leaving him a way to find me.
I know he’ll look for me.
Forbes is not the kind of guy who gives up easily on what he thinks belongs to him. And he definitely believes that I am his.
I get back on the road and drive for a few hours before I need to stop for gas. While in the station, I ask the attendant if there are any malls nearby. No malls, but he tells me there is a Walmart a few miles away.
Perfect.
I follow his directions to Walmart. I stock up on jeans, t-shirts, tank tops, pajamas, underwear, toiletries and more Advil. I also grab a pair of ballet flats. And a gym bag to keep all my new things in.
Heading for the checkout, I pay for my items, making small talk with the cashier.
I’ve just left the store, bags in hand, when I realize I haven’t gotten a hairdryer. My hair is a nightmare—thick and holds water like a sponge. It was still damp this morning from washing it last night.
I’m just about to head back inside, when the hair salon next door catches my eye. Before I even have a chance to think, I’m walking toward it, then I’m seated before a mirror as a woman called Shirley asks what I want to do with my hair today.
I blink. “Oh, uh…”
My eyes drift around at the many pictures of hair models on the wall. Then I realize what I want. I want to look different.
“I want you to cut it all off.”
Did I just say that?
“All?” She looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind. I probably have.
I have great hair. It’s blonde, very thick and very long, but now I just want it gone. I want to look different. I want to start my new future, with a new me.
“Yes. I want that style.” I point at a picture of a woman with short hair. It’s a pixie style.
She looks so pretty…
So happy…
I want to look like that.
Shirley tilts her head to the side, assessing me in the mirror. “Well, you definitely have the bone structure to carry it off.” She smiles. “Right, let’s get your hair washed. Give you time to change your mind.”
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
I sit down at the basin and lie my head back into the sink.
“You okay to remove the sunglasses, sweetie?” Shirley asks.
I freeze.
It takes me a moment to gather the courage to reach my hand up and slowly slide them off.
I hear her gasp of breath, and I’m thankful that I can’t see the expression on her face.
“Sit forward, sweetie. I forgot to put a towel around your shoulders.”
I do as she asks.
Shirley slips a towel around my shoulders, then I feel her hand gently squeeze my shoulder.
It feels like support. Solidarity.
It brings a lump to my throat.
Maybe she knows what it’s like to get a black eye. It’s not the pain on the outside that does the damage; it’s the effect that bruise has on the inside that does the worst kind of damage.
The black eye heals. The pain never does.
“Right, lay yourself back,” Shirley says. “Let’s make a new woman of you.”
An hour later and I’m back in my car. My purchases on the backseat. The new me in the front.
I tilt the mirror to look at my new hairstyle. My bangs sweep across, hanging in my eyes a little, and it’s just long enough to tuck behind my ear, but it is short.
I look completely different, just like I wanted.
Suddenly, laughter bubbles up and out of me. I’m laughing, and I have no clue why, then without warning I burst into tears.
I’m laughing and crying. What the hell is wrong with me?
Maybe I’m having some kind of breakdown.
A woman walks past my car, giving me an odd look, and I realize I must look like a crazy person, sitting here laughing my head off with tears streaming down my face.
I dry my face with my hands, start my car up, and begin my long drive to Colorado.
Chapter Four
Mia
It’s early evening.
Two and a half very long days since I drove out of that Walmart parking lot, but I’m finally here, driving across the city limits and into Durango.
I’m stiff, tired, hungry and beyond crabby.
Apart from two nights spent in horrid motel rooms, all I’ve done is drive. Thank god for the radio is all I can say. I’ve spent entirely way too long in my car – more than any person ever should.
It’s my own fault. I could have taken a little longer to get here, but I’ve been on a mission to put as much distance between me and Forbes as possible.
I just need something to eat, then I want to lie down on a comfortable bed and sleep for a week at least, then I’ll put my big girl panties on and go to this address that I have for Anna Monroe and find out if my mother still lives there. After that…
I have no clue.
I’m leaving that one down to fate.
Sticking to the main road, I follow it into the center of town. I lean forward, which stretches my back out nicely, and peer through the windshield to take a look around.
It’s a really pretty place. Quaint with a homey feel to it. I can see why someone would want to live here.
Why my mother would want to live here.
Lifting my eyes to the skyline, I see the backdrop of the mountains.
Wow. Stunning.
Leaning back in my seat, I catch sight of a diner. It looks nice and clean. I’ll grab a quick bite to eat here, then find a hotel.
Checking the road is clear, I pull across and park up front the diner. I put my sunglasses back on before exiting my car. My black-eye is still looking noticeably bad.
Locking my car, I stretch my aching body out, then make my way toward the diner.
I push the door open and step inside. Glancing around, I see a lot of the booths are already taken, so I’m praying they can seat me right away. I’d skip eating tonight if I could, but I’ve not eaten much these last few days, and I can feel the toll it’s taking on my body.
A girl walks over to greet me. She is about my age, but half a foot taller with long straight brown hair.
“Hi, welcome to Jo’s. I’m Beth, I’ll be your server. Just a table for one?” she asks, glancing behind me.
“Yes. Just me.” I smile awkwardly. I hate the discomfort that comes with eating alone.
Beth grabs a menu from the hostess stand, and I follow her over to an empty booth at the back of the diner. She places the menu on the table in front of me as I slide in the booth.
“What can I get you to drink?” Her pen is hovered over her notepad.
“I’ll have a diet coke, please,” I answer while my eyes make quick work of the menu. I just want to put my order in so I can eat quickly and drive to the nearest hotel. “I’d like to order my food now if that’s okay?”
“Of course.” She smiles. “What would you like?”
“Cheeseburger and fries.” I was never allowed to eat this kind of food growing up. Oliver wouldn’t allow it, and of course, Forbes has an issue with it. He says the sight of a woman eating a greasy burger is disgusting. Or maybe just the sight of me eating one is what disgusts him.
This is the kind of food I eat in private. And now I’m about to eat it in public.
Freaking thrilling.
Tragic, I know, but nonetheless true.
“Sure.” She takes the menu from me. “Your food will be ten minutes. I’ll be right back with your coke.”
“Thanks. Um, I was wondering … if you could help…”
She gives a curious look.
I twist in my seat a little to look at her. “I literally just arrived in town, and I need a place to stay, so I was wondering if you could recommend a decent hotel?”
Her eyes appraise me, taking me in from the sunglasses on my face to the sneakers on my feet. It makes me feel uncomfortable and tense. I paste a smile on my face as I tuck my feet back under the table.
“Golden Oaks,” she says, putting the menu under her arm. “It’s the best hotel in Durango by far. It’s just up in the mountains. A bit further out than most, but well worth the journey.”
“How far is the drive?” The last thing I want to do is spend more time than necessary in my car.
I notice her watching my mouth, and realize that I’m pulling on my lip with my finger and thumb. I do it when I’m uncomfortable, or nervous. Which is often.
I lay my hand on the table.
“It’s just a fifteen minute drive – ten if you drive fast.” She grins, tilting her head to the side.
I let out a little laugh. “Do you have the address or street name? – For my GPS,” I explain.
“Sure.” She scribbles on the notepad in her hand, then tears off the piece and hands it to me.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” She smiles, brightly. “I’ll be right back with that drink.”
I’ve just eaten, quite possibly the best burger I’ve ever had in my life, and now I’m back in my car, following the directions my GPS is telling me.
I’m feeling pretty proud of myself. There was a point back at the diner when I felt the pressing urge to overeat once I started in on the burger—stress catching up with me and trying to take control—but I held myself together and contained the urge. I ate what was on my plate, paid my bill and left.
That was a big achievement for me. I’ve never eaten food like that without purging it straight after.
Leaning forward, I glance around through the windshield.
