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Brittany

I ’m trying to be smart, strategic even. I have about ten grand in a checking account and thirty thousand in a savings account. However, I dropped out of sight five years ago, so all my credit and bank cards have expired. If I renew them and wait for the new cards to come in, my family will find me for sure.

I remember a conversation one of the club girls had about traveler’s checks. They used to be popular at one time, but not so much since debit cards became common. The advantage is that you can use them like cash. They’re not entirely untraceable because each one has an individual serial number, but it will take the bank a few days after I cash them to trace the location if someone were to ask. It would be a great way to access my cash while laying down a false trail.

So, bright and early the next morning, I go to my old hometown just over the Utah line and walk into one of the branch offices of my bank. It’s risky coming back here, but I’m hoping by the time anyone finds out, I’ll be long gone. Luckily, my passport is still valid, and with my California driver’s license they’re happy that my ID checks out. I pull out all the money in my savings account and have them issue traveler’s checks in small, one-thousand-dollar denominations. It’s a lot of money, but everything will cost more because I’m on the run.

I plan to head east, cashing them at every bank I pass. With any luck, they’ll think I’m heading for the East Coast. When I get close to the coast and have cashed all the traveler’s checks, I’ll double back and head to Washington State using only cash. Even if they somehow manage to pick up my trail, they’d never expect me to leave the continental United States. I’m still working on a way to make that jump without being obvious enough to track.

While I’m at the bank, I get a bit of a side-eye at the amounts I’m pulling out, but my ID checks out, so they do it without complaint. I chat with the teller about my imaginary European vacation and all the countries on my itinerary. She smiles indulgently and jokes with me about posting photos on social media for my friends and family to see. I feign interest in all the details because I’m desperate for this plan to work. My baby’s life depends on it.

I feel such relief when I walk out of the bank with a purse full of traveler’s checks. I am so used to there being roadblocks thrown in my path that this feels like a major victory in my struggle for independence. I never expected to be desperate enough to circle back around to the danger zone, and I feel a sense of relief once I’m out of Utah.

I quickly begin driving eastward, stopping to cash a traveler’s check at each bank I pass. One bank refuses, because I don’t have an account. The others just go ahead and do it, with no pushback. I also found a few shady places who would change them without ID. The commission they took was astronomical, but beggars can’t be choosers. Hundred-dollar bills slowly replace the traveler’s checks in my purse. To cash all forty grand, I would have needed to make forty stops. Around the twenty-second bank, I start getting turned down more often. I get thirty thousand before banks begin turning me down altogether. I found a few shady places that would change them without ID, the commission they took was astronomical, but beggars can’t be choosers. Eventually though, I give up as I have enough for my plan. It’s taken me two days, and I’ve had to sleep in my car because hotels require a photo ID. I’m too afraid the church will find me to chance it.

I stop at a truck stop and fill up a cooler with drinks and a bag full of snacks for my westward drive to Washington State. My nerves are a jangled mess. All I know is this money will need to sustain me for as long as possible. I’ll find a job working under the table, of course. But having this money will ensure I can get away safely, rent a little place, and make sure my baby doesn’t go without.

I bumped into a good opportunity with the Savage Legion MC five years ago. They gave me free room and board. I didn’t have to pay for anything, and one of the brothers even saw fit to buy me the used car I’m driving. It’s still in Smoke’s name. I think he forgot about it. As long as it gets me to Washington State, that’s all that matters. Staying at the clubhouse took me entirely off the radar. Not being hunted for the last five years was the closest thing to being free that I’ve known since my life took a horrible wrong turn.

I’m not an idiot, so I know that traveling with this much cash is dangerous. I don’t flash it when I buy things and fill my gas tank, nor do I talk to strangers, and I lock my car and sleep in well-lit public places that are open twenty-four hours. It’s exhausting, but I just need to make it from A to B safely.

It takes me five days to get to Washington from my eastward trek. This is turning out to be much harder than I ever imagined it would be. By the time I roll into Seattle, I’m wiped out. I take a short nap and press on, trying to stay as hydrated as possible. I make it to Bellingham and catch the thirty-six-hour ferry to Alaska, arriving in Dutch Harbor. I had to bribe the ferry conductor to travel without ID. It cost a good chunk of change, but it was worth it.

Finally, in Alaska, I rent a room with cash. I’ve been safe for five years, I know returning to my hometown was risky—even if no one recognized me, I’m going to show up on the radar—but I just hope I’ve done enough to disappear again. Surely, they wouldn’t think to look for me all the way in Alaska, especially when I led them east? I fall into bed, and don’t get back up for fourteen hours. When I do, I feel jet-lagged even though I didn’t fly. I prowl around the port town of Dutch Harbor. I filled up my gas tank before getting on the ferry, so I don’t need to worry about that. I’m tired of eating junk food, so I find a small restaurant and settle down for a warm meal. As I eat, reality hits me that I’m all alone. I don’t know a single soul in Alaska. It’s just me and my unborn child. I miss Tusk like crazy. I know I shouldn’t because he went back to his ex-wife, and it’s not appropriate to miss another woman’s man.

I try to throw my conflicted feelings about Tusk into a little box in the back of my head alongside all the other boxes, like the one that carries memories of being raised in the church. And the one from when I was a Mormon teen who liked to listen to my grandparents talk about old-fashioned gazing parties, where young people met—under strict supervision, of course—and talked, sang, and read the word of God while they also looked at each other with an eye to marrying.

Halfway through my meal, memories come flooding back of what my father tried to do to me, and I lose my appetite. Some small part of my brain realizes that’s why I stopped at the Savage Legion MC clubhouse that night five years ago. There, I could at least choose my own partners. And if I’m being totally honest, I wanted to defile myself to the point that no one in my parents’ church would ever want me again. Only then would I be truly safe.

I shove myself up from the table, pay my bill, and walk out into the chilly night air. Forcing the memories away, I walk along the coastline for a few miles and back again to clear my head. Anchorage is eight hundred miles away, and I can drive there using the Alaska Marine Highway. Only this time, I can at least rent hotels along the way. It will give me a chance to recover a bit before I hit Anchorage and begin looking for work, and a place to stay. It’s a good plan, and I’ve made it this far. Now, if I can just manage to wake up without a bout of morning sickness, I might be able to make some headway on getting settled. I’ll make a life for my baby and me one way or another. I’m clever and resourceful, after all.