Page 2

Chapter 2

April

“I don’t really give a shit.” I yank hard enough on the zipper to split my overstuffed duffel.

Of course it does.

“You can’t leave.” Dad crosses his arms, his gray eyebrows lower over his nose. “Not like this.”

I abandon the bag to throw my arms in the air. “Why not? Your new wife has made it quite clear this isn’t my home. I guess living here for twenty three years doesn’t count for fuck all.” I can feel the sting of tears.

No. I’m not crying in front of him, or his smug bitch standing in the corner.

He holds up his smooth palms in a feigned sign of surrender. “April, you know you’re always welcome—”

“Screw you. I wasn’t even planning on moving back in. You insisted, remember? I had a place.” I miss my apartment so badly. It was a year of absolute bliss living on my own.

Folding the canvas handles over the torn zipper, I bear hug my clothes to my chest. “ You were the one who said after they jacked up my rent I should stay here.”

If I could shoot bullets out of my eyes, I would aim for her smirking fake face.

“You should have cleared it with the step-cunt before she took all of my stuff to the Goodwill.” My heart is pounding in my ears as I stalk past her, barely resisting the urge to slap the Botox out of her fat lips.

“Oh, hun, I thought that stuff was old rags. I didn’t know it was important to you.” Her veneers glow under the fluorescent lighting when she smiles.

I hate her. So. Much.

“See, April? It was an honest mistake.” Dad loosens his tie, but his cheeks stay red as he leans against the back of the couch.

“She’s full of shit,” I spit back.

I didn’t want to stay here. I should have freaking known this crap was going to happen.

All I wanted was a place to crash so I could focus on finishing my master’s. That’s what Dad promised.

But I should have realized he sold his soul to the devil and she’s sucking him dry.

Whatever. It’s his money.

I never asked for any, and worked my own way through school, even after Mom died.

People tell me I’m smart, yet apparently I’m so damn stupid.

“Where are you going to go?” His voice is weaker as he slumps into the cushions.

Bastard. He’s giving up.

“Someplace I can study.” My fingers land on the brass handle. It’s freezing cold from the outside air.

A blast of it strikes over me when I pull open the heavy oak door.

Great. Driving in the middle of the night during a Montana winter is always fun.

I’d still rather risk it then spend one more minute under the same roof as Norma.

His knuckles turn white as he grips his left shoulder. “Please, can you just stay? We can talk this out? Or let me put you up here in town?”

The wind whips past me, fluttering the perfect piles of napkins she has sitting on the table awaiting their guests.

I catch her eyes narrowing at his suggestion.

“No. I don’t need a fucking thing from you. Enjoy the bed you made, Dad.” Turning on my heel, I slam the house shut behind me.

My light hoodie and thin jeans don’t give any insulation against the bite of late November.

I have to drive at half speed out of his subdivision until my Subaru warms up enough that I can see out of the windshield.

Where the hell am I going? Maybe towards campus?

I really am not in the mood for people. And everything will be shut down anyways with Thanksgiving being next week.

Guess I’m lucky Norma showed her hand this week, so I don’t have to pretend I like her snobby judgemental friends when they come over for dinner.

They didn’t even know Dad before she came along. It’s her constant, desperate search for attention that has him suddenly entertaining senators and celebrities.

It’s gross.

My eyes burn from hours of crying over my steering wheel when my gas light flickers on.

Shit. Where am I?

I don’t even remember if I was on the interstate before, I must have pulled off one of the exits.

It’s eight more miles before I spot the glimmer of a small station.

Thank goodness. Montana can be hundreds of miles between fuel spots.

When I pull up to the empty pump, there’s a handwritten sign that says “see attendant”.

“Figures.” I dig a twenty out of my purse and shove it into my pocket before climbing out of the heat of my car.

A tinny bell announces me when I push the swinging glass door open to be greeted by the cloying smell of bleach and grease.

At least the guy behind the counter is kinda cute. He reminds me of the men in my field classes.

Studying animal nutrition has the perks of being around the farm boys.

I think I like them more because I know it pisses my lawyer father off.

Making a short detour to the single bathroom piled high with cases of toilet paper, I head to the counter with a bottle of Mountain Dew.

“Hi, I need this and some gas.” I unfold the bill and slide it across the counter.

The clerk has to be around my age, with short hair hidden beneath his dirty ball cap. “Yea, sure.” He ducks to look out the window and squints. “Um, in what?”

“My car.” Duh.

His lips thin into a sideways smile. “What car?”

A sinking feeling takes my stomach to my knees.

In a panic, I fling the door open to stare at the empty lot.

“No. No. No—” Running out to where I had parked it, I can see the faint outlines of the tire treads left on the frosty pavement. Chasing them onto the highway, they disappear into the darkness.

“Fuck!” I scream into the nether.

My first instinct is to call my dad.

God damn it. Screw him.

Everything was in my car. My phone, my wallet, my stuff.

The cold is numbing my fingers and toes, so I run back to the heat of the convenience store, wiping the frozen tears from my cheeks.

“Do you have a phone I can use?” Wrapping my arms around my belly, it’s a struggle to control the sobs. “Someone stole my car.”

“Oh, gosh. I’m sorry to hear that!” He slides his cell from his pocket. “Here. I’ll make you some hot chocolate while you wait.”

Handing me his Apple, he disappears through a door labeled “employees only”.

I tap on the screen, but it has a passcode.

Is he kidding?

“Hey, buddy? I can’t unlock this. Can you help me?” I call out loud enough I hope he can hear me.

“Oh yea, sorry. Bring it here.” His voice is muffled like he’s on the other side of the garage.

Today sucks, so hard.

The handle has a layer of grime on it that’s slick under my palm when I twist it. There’s a narrow hall stuffed with inventory boxes that winds into the larger bay beyond it.

“Where are you?” My words echo into the cavernous space beyond the stacks.

An arm wraps around my chest, then a damp cloth is forced over my mouth and nose.

It smells funny.

“Right here.” He breathes against my ear, hugging me against his chest.

Fear courses through me as his phone clatters to the concrete. I dig my nails into his hand.

He has gloves on.

I try to twist my body, clawing at the thick sleeves on his shirt.

But my arms start to feel heavy.

I’m so lightheaded.

The lights get fuzzy.

Where am I?

My eyes are so dry. I’ll just close them for a second.

I should fight.

Kick.

But my legs don’t respond, and I feel myself fall limp in his hold.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he sighs. “Go to sleep.”