CHAPTER TWELVE
Maisie
“Please, just get me out of here,” I beg the salesperson.
“Alright little lady, where you headed?” says the Grayhound rep, snapping his gum. “What’s your final destination?”
That’s a good question. The truth is I don’t know. The Double H has always been my home, I’ve never even left Kansas before. So gulping again, I say what comes to mind.
“Far away,” comes my choked voice, while wiping tears. All the crying has made my eyes puffy and irritated, but the old man takes pity on me then. Glancing over black framed glasses, he taps on his computer, swirling his mouse, and then speaks.
“Well we can’t get you to the North Pole, but how about Colorado? That’s mighty far from here.”
I nod, sobs rising in my throat again, air passage painfully tight. The rep looks at me pityingly again, and pushes a button. The machine whirs to life, and a white ticket pops out in the slot.
“There you go,” he says, clearing his throat. “You’ll love Colorado, it’s beautiful with majestic mountains and blue skies. Plus, cool this time of year,” he adds fanning himself. “Not like Kansas.”
I take the ticket numbly, murmuring thanks, and plod through the station, eyeing the fleet of Greyhound buses. They’re huge, steel-grey machines, all lined-up and ready to go at the curb. I board my bus, snagging a window seat. But it doesn’t matter because I won’t be seeing a thing. My heart is destroyed, soul shattered in pieces. And despite everything, all I can see is Tyler’s handsome mug, those gleaming blue eyes and cocky, confident grin.
He’s the enemy, chants my mind.
He’s your husband, another voice says.
He’s your lover, a third voice intones.
Oh god, have I gone insane? Am I a schizophrenic now, with all sorts of babbling voices running in my head, crossing over each other and driving me crazy?
But the thing is, the voices are right. Tyler means so much to me that he’s every one of those things, and more. He’s the man whom I’m legally bound to before the eyes of the law. He’s the man who took my virginity, who stroked my secret spaces until I shattered. He’s also man who betrayed my loyalty and trust, the cause of my collapse.
I burrow deeper into my seat, choking back sobs as the bus pulls from the station. Covering my eyes, hopefully no one will notice the pain, but fortunately, there aren’t too many people on this ride. The closest person is three rows away and I tilt my head back, lids brimming with tears. Oh god! Tyler, Tyler!
My heart aches, a physical ache radiating through my chest. Squeezing my eyes shut against the sunshine, I will my lungs to keep breathing. The exertion distracts me, because in a matter of minutes, there’s a rough shake at my shoulder.
“Miss, Miss,” the voice says insistently, coming from far away.
What? No, leave me in my misery.
But the voice comes again.
“Miss,” it says firmly this time. “We’re here. Final stop.”
Reluctantly, my eyes open, bleary and fuzzy. What in the world? Half-heartedly, I scrub my cheeks, crusts of tears coming away with my fingers. Holy cow, I must have fallen asleep, my muscles are tight and sore, forcing me to stretch just to wake them up. And when my vision clears I recognize the heavyset bus driver. He doesn’t look too happy.
“This is our last stop,” he grunts before turning away. What? Really? Bolting up straight, I turn to look out the window. But there’s nothing to see but an anonymous bus depot, all gleaming steel and gray concrete.
“Hello Colorado,” is my soft whisper and sad smile. “Hi, I’m Maisie.”
Fear flows through me as I make my way off the bus on unsteady feet. This is my new life now. My new home. I have to forget the Double H, and at that, another wave of sadness overwhelms my frame, almost bringing me to my knees. Oh god, how am I supposed to forget? I’ve never known anything but the farm, so what am I supposed to do now?
But survival instinct forces my feet forwards.
“Hi, do you know of any hotels nearby?” I ask a lady at the information desk and she points me towards a motel just one mile up the road.
With my backpack and duffle bag in tow, I plod through the night until I’m at the door of the front office. There’s a light in the window flashing the word ‘vacancy’, so I make my way inside, bone-tired with circles under my eyes.
“Hi, I wanted to know if you have any rooms available?” I ask the lady behind the counter. She’s slim with weird-colored hair, a flat and monochromatic brown. Plus, her eyebrows are filled in with a dark pencil, and she seems to have used the same color to outline her thin lips.
But her voice is warm, stirring me out of my funk.
“No problem, honey. Do you know how long you’ll be here?” she asks and I shake my head.
“Just a week,” I say in a small voice. “At least for now.”
“Sure, sure,” she says, looking down at the computer screen, fingers flying. “We’ve got you covered. Here’s a key.”
And grabbing my stuff, I make my way to my motel room, which is much nicer than I anticipated. It’s small, but it has everything I could need – a queen size bed, a small refrigerator, a television, and a table with a chair. There’s even a small bathroom in the back, with a tub that’s decent-sized.
Thankfully, sleep comes easily and I don’t wake once throughout the night. But a knock on my room door jolts me awake the following morning, and to my surprise it’s the brown-haired lady from the front desk again.
“Is something wrong?” I ask sleepily, peering out the door.
“No, nothing wrong,” she says slowly, taking in my messy hair and bleary eyes. “Nothing wrong, except your credit card was declined.”
That jolts me awake.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I’ve never used it before, it’s brand new.”
The receptionist shakes her head.
“I know honey, credit card companies are bizarre sometimes. But unfortunately, we’re gonna have to ask you to leave. I was supposed to do it last night, as soon as the decline came through, but you looked so tired.”
Oh shit, shit. What can I do? Nodding miserably, I turn.
“I’ll get my stuff,” I mumble, defeated already. “I’ll be out of your hair in ten.”
But the lady doesn’t leave right away. Instead she stands at the doorway a moment longer, looking me over with pitying eyes
“Where you coming from?”
“Kansas,” I say half-heartedly. Not that it matters.
She takes a deep breath.
“Listen I had a daughter a lot like you,” she say slowly. “My Katie always had this lost air about her, like she was constantly running. So how about some work?” she asks. “You willing to work for your keep?”
I turn quickly, eyes flashing with hope.
“That’d be marvelous, I’d really appreciate it,” is my breathless reply. “I’ll do anything around here. Maid? Washing dishes? Anything at all, I’m really good with my hands.”
The woman nods slowly.
“I’m Grace,” she says, extending her hand. “My daughter was Katie, she died last year so I feel like I gotta help. So many girls out there,” she says, shaking her head.
“I’m sorry about your daughter,” is my reply. “I’m really sorry to hear about whatever it is that happened, but whatever you want me to do, I’d be happy to.”
Grace nods her head again.
“Why don’t you start with the laundry?” she asks. “Lord knows even a small motel like us has loads and loads to do every day, sheets, comforters, coverlets, towels, all that good stuff. I’ll show you the laundry room and you can get started there.”
I nod gratefully.
“Yes ma’am,” are my obedient words. But as Grace turns to leave, I stop her once more.
“Can I ask what happened to your daughter? You said she’s gone, can I ask how? I don’t mean to pry,” is my quick refrain. “It’s okay not to say.”
Grace pauses at the doorstep, still looking down. But then she raises her head to look at me, tears shining in her eyes.
“My Katie got into the business,” she says slowly. “It was nasty stuff, drugs and working on the street, selling her body. She got taken by a man, a real nasty john, and he beat the shit out of her,” she said, voice breaking. “No matter where she hid, he always found her, and finally, it was too much. He beat the living daylights out of my girl,” Grace says, voice breaking. “My baby girl, my sweet thing.”
I stop, heart beating in my throat. Oh my god. Grace’s pain must be unimaginable. To know that your child was beaten to death by a random stranger? Some violent criminal who preyed on women?
But Grace straightens then.
“That’s why I have to help you,” she says, drawing herself up and taking a deep breath. “When I see a girl like you, on the run, no money and no options, I’ve gotta step in. I can let what happened to my Katie happen to another innocent child.”
I nod slowly.
“Thank you. I really appreciate it,” are my simple words. My stomach’s in my throat, heart full. Oh god, what happened to her daughter is so awful and painful, no words are enough.
Grace shakes her head quickly again, turning to go.
“You just let me know if something goes wrong, hear? You come to me first.”
I nod.
“Yes of course. Thank you again,” are my quiet words.
And with that, the woman’s gone, her painfully thin form limping down the hallway.
I pause, taking a deep breath, surveying the room once more. I’ve been granted a boon. A get out of jail card that I have to use wisely. Because I have no money, no luck, and no options, but out of nowhere, Grace has agreed to hire me as a laundress at this motel.
And I’m grateful. After everything that’s happened, what else do I have? I have to make the best of it because I’m a survivor, a fighter, a cowgirl who doesn’t give up. I’ve got to keep going past my husband’s betrayal … no matter what.