Chapter 2
Emma stared at herself in the mirror. The short bob haircut made her look like a kid, but the deep burgundy hair color helped offset the juvenile effect. She frowned as she realized that she had to think hard to remember what her natural color was. A few months ago, she had deep brunette locks that hung in waves down the middle of her back. Her father always said it looked like polished mahogany. Her father had always loved her hair. I wonder if he would even recognize me now, she thought and quickly squashed that train of thought. Thinking of home was never a good idea.
She pulled on her hiking shorts and t-shirt and stuffed the Windstar uniform deep down in the trashcan of the convenience store bathroom. Emma felt a small pang at leaving Bridget in a bind by disappearing. She had enjoyed her few days on board the Star Pride. Her backpack was stuffed with food she had been stealing from the buffets and kitchen. There was so much food thrown away every meal on the ship, she didn’t feel bad for helping herself.
With a baseball cap over her newly cropped and colored hair, she wandered the city working her way to the outskirts. Dusk was falling, and she saw a promising looking motel. Half of the sign’s lights were burned out, there were 3 cars in the lot, and it looked like a good strong wind would blow it over. It was perfect.
Emma haggled with the desk clerk and managed to get a room for the night at roughly half of what he had originally asked. She pushed open the door to #3 and stepped into a sparsely furnished, slightly shabby room. She pulled down the sheets and inspected the bedding. It didn’t smell freshly laundered, but it didn’t smell dirty either. Best of all, no bugs or any disturbing stains.
The water rained down in a fitful trickle from the showerhead as she tried to wash away the grime of the day. She finally felt moderately clean, at least as clean as the bed she was about to sleep in. She pulled everything out of the pack to take inventory.
She had enough food for about a week if she strictly rationed. After paying for her room, there were 207 euros left in her wallet. She had 3 IDs and one credit card for extreme emergencies. She stuffed her bag with her odd assortment of clothes accumulated on her journey- a fisherman’s sweater from Scotland, a beret from her time in Paris, and a colorful poncho she bought at a market in Spain was her favorite. She also had a small tent with a broken pole that she had found in the garbage at a campsite and a light-weight sleeping bag, another garbage find. In the side pockets of the pack, she arranged the food. In a belt that she kept around her waist, she put most of the money, the IDs, and the credit card.
She slid between the sheets and marveled for a moment. A few short months ago, there would have been no way she would have stayed a minute in a room like this. So much had changed in the blink of an eye. She drifted off trying to concentrate on the blue of the Mediterranean, but the rolling green plains of the Midwest danced in her dreams.
She was gone before the day fully woke the next morning. The morning light was sliding into the sky subtlety as if it was trying not to be noticed. The dusky rose of the dawn light gave enough illumination that Emma walked confidently along. She had bought a map yesterday and was heading north for Tripoli. According to the map, Emma thought it would take her about 3 or 4 days to make the trek.
The sun was high in the sky by noon, and Emma’s shirt stuck to her back. No cars seemed willing to pick up a hitchhiker. She plodded along under the warm, September sun. She stopped to fill her water bottles at a gas station. Between pictures drawn on the back of a receipt, the storekeeper’s broken English, and some fairly ingenious charades on Emma’s part, she discovered that if she took the right fork in the road ahead, she would cut off some of the rougher walks through the hill country by staying more in the valley.
Several hours later, Emma was standing on the edge of a large vineyard with her map trying to figure out where she had taken a wrong turn. She had taken the first right, but the road had meandered around and split off several more times. She was now heading more east than north and had been for quite a while. This was not the road she was supposed to be on. She would have to go back to the split and get back on the main road.
Damn it, she thought. It would add an extra half day’s walk. She sighed and studied the map. She was tired and wanted to get close to where she could rest for the night. If she was reading it accurately, the map indicated that she could cut through the vineyard and meet back up to the road on the other side. She just needed to walk toward the sun to keep her heading west. With a mental shrug, she adjusted her backpack and slipped over the rail of the fence that surrounded the vineyard.