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From a Distance
By Vernon Bargainer iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2013 Vernon Bargainer
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-8161-2
Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
A rackety old pickup finally misfired its way out of town while a distraught young woman strained at the wheel and prayed to the gods for mercy. Nineteen-year-old Sarah Lock was running. After a while, she looked in the rearview mirror, sobbing, and nodded as she saw her hometown, Dallas, receding in the distance. Maybe a little speed on the open highway would thwart the backfiring of her stolen truck. She peeled away like a shot tiger. Must be the cheap gas, she thought.
Sarah glanced toward the grassy roadside outside the passenger window and flinched at the sight of the little wad of money she'd pitched into the seat just minutes earlier—five one-hundred-dollar bills she had dug out of a jar in the pantry, her last tangible effort before bounding away. Now she was thinking, What am I going to face trying to buy a hamburger with a hundred-dollar bill? At once, she sobered, knowing that in the days ahead, she would face many other such pesky and much more compelling questions.
But this is it, thought Sarah. The dream is gone; it's over. No one would understand why she ran, no one in her life. But it had to be done; it had to be settled at once, nipped in the bud. With good luck, she should be in Oklahoma City by noon. She stomped the accelerator, fixed her eyes on the road ahead, and drove on, brokenhearted but resolute in what she was doing. At once, the trusty old vessel backfired again. One more for the road.
Now that she was settled on course, Sarah tried to relax. Gently, she caressed the left side of her jaw with two fingers, and the tears came again. Before she could dwell on that matter, she was startled by sirens screaming in the rear. The red-and-blue lights of the police car were closing fast—much to her delight. "Come on down," she taunted, as if they could hear her. She raved on, "Nothing would serve my cause any better than to be identified as going north out of Dallas, heading for Oklahoma City in this forsaken old 1999 Chevy pickup." At this point, there would be no reason to suspect it was a stolen vehicle, so it was unlikely they were after her.
Sarah sped to seventy-five miles an hour and started driving nonchalantly with one hand. Now she was rocking her head from side to side as if in rhythm to music in the car. At once, the blaring police chaser was at her back bumper. She laid on a seductive smile and glanced toward the car as it whizzed by and proceeded on ahead. "Curses!"
All the excitement seemed to be over. Traffic was monotonously light, and the highway had become boring. Even old Grumpy managed only an occasional backfire. Too bad, for she would have preferred to be distracted, fully occupied with mundane thoughts. Instead, she was taken back to thoughts of her shattered dream. Once more, she tested her aching jaw and jerked back when she felt the deep pain of a bruised bone. At once, she tapped her lips, as if calling for their help, and started shaking her head.
Sarah's whole life had been a wrangle, trying to overcome a demoralizing stigma placed on her during her early childhood. Years later, providence allowed her a life-changing event, which brought great promise—but it was not to be. The battle was not over after all. Within this crisis, it wasn't physical pain that hurt so much; rather, it was the emotional devastation, the destruction of her dream, the denial of freedom from the humiliating disgrace thrust on her as a child.
* * *
Oklahoma City was positively inviting. There were no visible little battles going on, either in the traffic or on the sidewalks. The only thing that possibly might have enhanced this picture would have been a sign, reading "Welcome Fugitives." Forget it, thought Sarah. This isn't a stolen truck after all. It's mine. She slapped the steering wheel and snorted loudly. So, by golly, I'm not a fugitive; I'm just a missing person. No law against that, right? Otherwise, life certainly seemed to be at ease in this warm Southern city—just what a desperate, heartbroken woman needed.
Having frequently visited her late aunt who had lived near the city, Sarah generally knew her way around. Now, she drove straight through town and into the parking lot of a four-story apartment building. She just sat for a while, resting her head on her clenched hands near the top of the steering wheel. After a while, she leaned back, took several deep breaths, and stared for a few moments vaguely into the sky. Then she glanced toward her lap, shaking her head at the dull mid-length black skirt pulled tight around a green satin blouse with sparkly magnolia blossoms and a huge, double-ruffle neckline. This outfit was familiar to all who knew her, and since it would now be missing from her wardrobe, it surely would be held as the primary ID element in tracing her.
Okay, it's time!
Sarah crammed the little wad of money into her gaudy over-the-shoulder, black leather bag; snatched the keys from the ignition; and bumped open the door with a determined shoulder. As she twisted her way out of the old relic, she made a quick survey of her surroundings. There was no one in the parking lot; a couple of people were just entering the building. She slammed the door, locked it, and strolled toward the apartment, trying to appear calm and confident. Once inside the building, she glanced at the desk which, mercifully, was very busy at the moment. She hurried to the elevator, rode it alone to the fourth floor, found the stairwell, entered it, and walked half a flight down. The plan was in motion.
In the stairwell, she lifted a pair of sleek black slacks from her bag, as well as a tan, short-sleeved silk blouse and a pair of black high heels. No one would notice that these items were missing from her wardrobe, for they had been on loan to a very close friend who had returned them a couple of weeks ago when she moved to Arizona. Sarah had stored this outfit in a dry-cleaner's bag and then replaced it with another set of clothes when she ran. Now, quickly, she donned the new ensemble. When it was fully in place, she twisted around a bit, somewhat prissily, as if modeling in a fashion show. Then she stuffed her runaway clothes into the bag, whirled it over her shoulder, tightened her lips, folded her arms, dipped her head, and whispered, "There!"
Back on the street, Sarah walked away from town for a block and then circled back, walked two blocks, and caught a bus to downtown. She rested inside a busy shoe store until it was almost her turn. In a few moments, she eased out of her seat and headed for the door, mumbling, "I'm sorry, y'all; I forgot something. See you later." She dawdled out of the store and proceeded toward the Greyhound bus station. It had been a long day, and she was sleepy and hungry. No matter, she had to press ahead.
Soon, she was hit with a sense of needing to hurry. It was 1:15 p.m., and the bus was scheduled to depart at 2:30. However, the station was just minutes away. So now is the hour, thought Sarah, for that strategic though dreaded phone call to Mommy Dear. Dreaded, because, as supportive as her mother had always been, there was still one critical issue in their relationship, one that had haunted her for ten years.
Leaning against a storefront with her huge bag slouched on the pavement behind her ankles, Sarah lifted her cell phone and nervously dialed her mother's number in Dallas.
"Hello."
Mom?"
"Hey."
"Mom, no problem; I just called to let you know I'm fine, but I'm somewhere else."
"Than where?"
"Than there."
"Explain!"
"I'm in Oklahoma City, headed north. I just didn't want you to worry when you would find out I'm missing."
"Is Mack with you?"
"Ah ... no."
"Does he know?"
"Later, Mom."
"Sarah, what's going on?"
"It's okay, Mom; it's okay. Trust me. I'll fill you in later."
"Your dad's not gonna like this."
"Tell him to just take it easy, and please don't worry. Everything's going to be all right. So I'll call you again."
"Wait, wait, wait, wait! What's—"
"Check you later; bye."
Sarah closed the call, turned off the phone, and heaved her unwieldy bag back up to a weary shoulder. "Ouch!"
As she hurried away, she was hailed by an old man, seemingly in a desperate hurry, yet straining to make his way along the sidewalk. As he approached, he smiled bashfully and dipped his head briefly as if apologizing for the interruption. "Pardon me, ma'am," he creaked. "Can you tell me how to get to Dewey Avenue?"
Seizing a chance to escape her anguish for a moment, Sarah smiled mischievously and chortled, "Ah, I recommend walking; it's so close, you know."
Quickly catching her jest, the old man joked, "How ... close ... is it?"
Sarah giggled, tapped his shoulder warmly, and said, "Okay, here's what you do. Turn around and go back the way you were coming, just to the far edge of the courthouse. That's Hudson. Turn left onto Hudson, and walk one or two blocks to West Main. Turn to ... ah ... your right, then walk about a block, and, bingo, you're there!" She threw out her hands excitedly and piped, "Deal?"
"Deal," said the old man. He paused for a moment, looking serious. "And, my dear, I must say, it was worth getting lost to find you. Your warm sense of humor and not being in too big a rush to help somebody has made my day. I'll never forget this moment. God bless you!"
As he turned and lumbered away, Sarah brushed a lone tear from her right eye and sighed. "You, too, sir. I'll not forget you either. I wish you goodness and goodwill every day of your life."
It was still a little bit early when she arrived at the station, so she grabbed a package of peanut butter crackers from a vending machine and sat down to wait for the preemptive right moment to buy her ticket. Clearly, this strategy was a gamble. The bus could well be fully booked already—one more thing to worry about. So she just sat bedazzled, fidgeting with her crackers and trusting the grace of God. I don't know why I'm so nervous; I'm perfectly incognito, whatever that means. Guess I'm just instinctively nervous. "Oh ... oh!" Chewing hurts.
Precisely at two o'clock, Sarah walked toward the ticket counter, trying to look snappy and proud. Not a worry in the world.
"Good afternoon, miss. May I help you?"
"Yes, thank you. One-way to Dallas, please."
CHAPTER 2
Sarah lingered in the bus lane, smiling at passengers hurrying to board, politely stepping aside and waving them ahead. It was her premise that this would cast her as an unconcerned traveler who had no fear of being recognized. Surely her behavior was the opposite of what one would expect of a girl on the lam.
Now the commotion was beginning to settle, so Sarah stepped smartly to the bus, holding her chin up, climbed the steps resolutely, and handed her ticket to a harried-looking driver. At the top of the aisle, she paused. All the front seats were taken except for one beside a woman who looked as though she might not have had a bath in a few days. Sarah started down the aisle, meeting the easy smiles of seemingly relaxed passengers as she strolled on. Near the back, a middle-aged man flaunting a certified extrovert smile, nodded toward the empty seat beside him as if to say, "This one's for you."
"Be my guest ... please," he said.
"Thank you ... Believe I will. How kind of you to save me a seat."
"Well, I always try to look out for pretty ladies."
Uh-oh. This could get ugly. Sarah smiled.
"I'm Leon Garner," he said, bowing and exaggerating his grin.
"I'm Michelle Wheeler; it's very nice to meet you, Leon. Again, thanks for sharing your quarters with me."
"Quarters? Yeah, I guess you're right; each row is sort of a ... what would you say—a billet?" He slapped his stomach, laughing vigorously, apparently thinking he'd gotten off the better quip. Then he cleared his throat and mused, "Surely there's more behind that modest countenance of yours than I thought."
"Hmm." This bird obviously wants to flirt. If only he'd just shut up. How am I gonna handle this for five hours?
"So anyway," continued Leon, "I hope I meet with your approval as a seatmate. I've already been criticized for this gear I'm in today."
Sarah shook her head lightly and glanced up into the face of her partner. "Someone around here?" she asked.
"No, no," he said, "my wife ... when she let me out at the station. See, she brought me down here; so, like, why not? She didn't have a damn else thing to do. Maybe she was on edge because she had to get off her rump and drive the car four miles."
As Leon rattled on, Sarah pretended to listen intently while slyly scanning him for her own assessment. He was a bit overweight and slightly balding, but not to the point of detracting from his somewhat handsome face. But, ugh, his attire was totally out of character for this man of obvious self-confidence. He was wearing a long-sleeved blue dress shirt with button-down collar and no tie. This might get by for most occasions, but he had paired this slightly fashionable top with denim pants.
Finally, Leon slowed to catch his breath. Then he leaned back hard against his seat, raised his chin, thumbed his collar up to it, and smirked. "What do you think?"
"I think your wife was right."
"Hmm. So you don't think this outfit looks good on me?"
"Sure, I think it looks good," she droned, halfheartedly. "I just think a button-down looks better with a tie."
"Well, you girls. I like it this way just fine—by golly."
"And that's all that matters," said Sarah politely.
"Woohoo! What a surge of support."
Sarah smiled. Then she looked away from him, taking in the small horde of passengers. Generally, it was a well-groomed, vibrant crowd, apparently happy with their decision to take a bus. Some were already sleeping, or their posture made it appear they were. Maybe this is a good technique for dealing with an incessant talker when you want to signal disinterest without being overtly rude. She winced when Leon started up again. "Where're you headed?"
"Dallas. Aren't we all?"
"Oh, that's right; this is an express, isn't it?"
Sarah smiled but said nothing.
"Is that home?" blurted Leon.
"Is what home?"
"Dallas."
She didn't answer for a while, hoping he'd forget the question. However, he continued to stare right at her, lifting his eyebrows from time to time, remaining unusually patient for an extrovert. So she swallowed, dropped her head, and murmured, "Sort of." She gazed into her lap, hoping to signal that she didn't want to talk about it. Apparently, he got the message, because he didn't press the issue. Maybe he's not a bad guy after all, thought Sarah. In any event, he's proved to be sensitive on that one. Score one for Leon.
At once, the driver's voice blared over the loudspeakers. "Welcome aboard, everyone. Thank you for choosing Greyhound. Everything's looking good for our flight—heh, heh. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the trip. We should be in Dallas by about seven forty-five. Hang in there, as they say—heh, heh."
Just as the bus jerked and started to ease forward, some of the passengers began calling out to the driver. Some were waving their arms and pointing toward the right rear of the bus where a young boy was running, desperately trying to catch the driver's eye. He was yelling and waving his ticket in the air. He was actually gaining on the bus until it started to pick up a little speed. Still, he raced on.
Suddenly, the presumably unwashed woman up front bounded out of her seat and shot up to the driver, screaming, "That young man is going to get hurt! He has a ticket. Look!"
The driver grumbled something unintelligible, but he did stop the bus and open the door.
The young kid scrambled aboard, struggling for breath as he stretched toward the driver holding his ticket at arm's length.
The driver snatched the ticket and admonished, "Find a seat, quickly."
Thoroughly exhausted, the boy hesitated at the head of the aisle, panting and swallowing hard, clearly out of shape. He looked to be about fifteen years old. His garb was a sharp contrast to that of Sarah's seatmate. He was wearing baggy pants, an Old Navy T-shirt, and a bib cap turned backward. At least his outfit was consistent throughout, unlike old Leon's. Suddenly, the boy swung himself into the seat next to the woman who, unknown to him, had interceded on his behalf.
As the young lad settled in, the passengers applauded. At that, he rose somewhat out of his seat, turned half around, and nodded to the crowd. Then, he waved a limp finger in the air, humbly accepting their kindness.
As they rolled out of the station, an obviously irritated Leon tapped Sarah's shoulder and smirked. "What's with the kid, I wonder?"
"He's late."
Leon chuckled. "I dare say, Sarah, you're certainly a woman of few words."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from From a Distance by Vernon Bargainer. Copyright © 2013 by Vernon Bargainer. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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