by T. E. Price
Heat rises to my face and throbs at the marks Jonathan left. I turn away from her without offering any excuse. She’s going to reach her own conclusions. So, just like always, we brush past the topic as if it has never been brought up in the first place. Will my mom and I ever be able to connect? Well, not with her accusations. I zip up one of the full bags sitting on my bed and toss it to the door. “Can you take that out to Dad, please?” She turns to exit, her eyes darting. Does she want to say anything else, to apologize? She lifts the duffle bag and swings the strap over her shoulder, hesitates in the frame, then leaves. In the welcome quiet after her exit, I bend a knee and reach under the bed, my hand thumping around. Where is it? Ahah. I pull out the tin box I strategically hid the first night I spent alone here in the lake house. I flip open the lid and count the bills I have left from the money I secretly stashed before leaving Jonathan. This should cover the gas it will take me to get to Ann Arbor. I fold the bills and shove them into my back pocket, then throw the empty, tin box into the only bag I have left to pack before I’m out of here for good.
My trunk and back seat are loaded with the items and clothing that I will be taking with me. I swallow my parents’ disconnected farewell, and watch them bump down the dirt drive, the bed of their truck piled high with the things I won’t need. I lick my lips, then turn to the lake house for one last scan. Everything’s in order, just as it had been when I arrived. When will Ainsley come here to collect the key? Today? Next week? Ah, who cares? My time in Oklahoma is through. My safety is gone, and I’m left with one option—to take flight all over again.
* * *
My eyes grow tired as the dark highway stretches before me. I shake my empty coffee cup, checking, yet again, that I’ve finished the last drags. Humph. There’s no more caffeine, and my eyelids are drooping. If I stop for another latte, I may make it through the night. I yawn, for the umpteenth time. Maybe not. A sign flashes ahead—next rest stop, two miles away. I’ve got to stop and rest my eyes for a little. I pull into the parking lot, circle around the well-lit, brick building holding the bathrooms and a few vending machines, and slide into a spot, jamming my foot on the brake. I check the GPS, then power it down. I’m a few states from home…well, not home— from Oklahoma. My chin quivers, but I tighten my fists. No. I’ve done my fair share of crying this trip, I’ve got to give it a rest. I can’t go back now, I know that. So why have I wrestled with the idea, again and again, with the passing miles? I shift into park, lock the doors, turn off the car, throw my coat over me as a blanket, and guide my seat back as far as the suitcase behind will allow. My eyes flutter closed, and thoughts of my escape become my lullaby, singing a hopeless tune of a fawn fleeing for safety until I fall into a restless sleep.
Bang-bang! I suck in a breath so sharply that my lungs freeze in the frigid air as I jolt forward. What’s happening? I touch the dash to see if my GPS fell, but it’s in place. Bang! My window rattles beside me, and I flinch. Someone’s out there. I take the sleeve of my sweatshirt and rub against the fog on the glass. Who just woke me, and why? My groggy eyes focus on an older man who is crouched beside my car window. “You shouldn’t stay here at this hour—it’s not safe,” he yells. I gulp, look around the grounds, then nod, and give a thumbs-up. If it’s not safe, then who’s to say this man is? My fingers slide down the door panel and feel for the lock. Whew. I’m still locked in. I twist the key to start my car and pull my seat into an upright position. The crouched man rises with the rumble of my engine. I steal a side-glance out of the frosty glass. I hope he’s not waiting for me to unroll my window. I’ve learned my lesson with Jonathan. One hand glides down my neck, and I wince the moment I touch my collarbone. Another bruise … no surprise. I pinch my lips. I have to protect myself at all costs, even if it means being rude to this stranger. He backs slowly away from the car and watches me drive toward the highway in the muted hues that proceed the sunrise.
I shiver and crank the heat, wiggling my fingers then rubbing at the cold tip of my nose. Should I have put on another pair of socks? Ugh. I bend and flex my toes in my boots. I probably should have stopped over in a hotel, but there was no money for that. Besides, a few hours rest was all I needed anyway. I glance down at the empty cup in my cup holder. Hmmm. A coffee will do the trick, although that sudden start from sleep was like a shot of caffeine to my veins. I pull off at a convenient exit, order a latte, fill up my gas tank, and find myself on the road again just as the sun begins to-rise. The gray slush along the side of the highway builds as I navigate farther north. By the time I cross the Michigan state line, I spiral again into a state of mourning. It’s not that I don’t appreciate Harrison’s willingness to let me live with his family until I can get on my feet, it’s more that my world is being flipped upside-down. I scan the dreary sky and dirty snowbanks…a perfect match for my depressing thoughts.
But I’m supposed to be a fighter now. How does this sudden move fit with the new me? Just yesterday, I was eager to spend time in worship with God at my church, but today I’m escaping across state lines to get far away from the abuse and betrayal I left behind. When will it ever stop? Can I ever settle down, or will I always have to flee for my safety? Will I ever be able to trust again?
CHAPTER 17
“Well, that just about sums it up, Mrs. McClain. Welcome to the gym,” the woman across from me says. I flinch. She’s donning exactly what I’ll be when I begin my new job here: black polo shirt, khaki pants, name tag. And if she’s calling me Hallie McClain, that’s probably what she’s going to stamp on the clip that will go on my shirt … for all to see.
As she rises from her desk, I clear my throat, then say, “Actually, I know my paperwork for this position indicates that my last name is McClain, but it’ll soon be legally changed back to Reed, and I’m wondering if we can just stick to Hallie Reed for the staff and members of this gym?”
“Absolutely,” my new superior says, her slow smile topped with a single wrinkle in her brow. “I’ll make sure we get that detail clear for your name tag.” She pulls open her desk drawer and takes out a digital camera, “The last thing we need to do for your training is get a picture of you.”
As I shift uncomfortably in my seat, she asks me to smile as she points the camera at my face. Humph. Do I have to? My lips lift ever so slightly. Click-click. The shutter of the lens blinks back at me. That wasn’t too painful. “What’s the picture for?”
“We put it in our system so that the other trainers at the gym know who you are when you clock in. We’re completely online here, so when you sign in at the front desk, the system recognizes your features and moves you through the process quickly.” I nod. It won’t be long before my days will be spent at this busy gym rather than sulking in Harrison and Isabel’s apartment. In one, short week, I found the open position. The second week was filled with the interview and training.Easy enough. “Oh,” she adds, “and we’ll put this picture on our website so that our members can have a visual of all the trainers.”
“No!” I blurt, my adrenaline spiking to my tingling extremities. She freezes. I blink, over and over, then lean forward in my chair. “I’m sorry, it’s just that …” What do I say? I can’t tell her about Jonathan. I don’t even know her. Would it make sense to explain why I had to leave Oklahoma if I don’t mention him? “Well … there’s someone back home who would really like to know where I am, and he will probably be searching for me on multiple websites.”
In a flash, her eyes move to the yellowing bruise on my collarbone. Ugh. Why hasn’t that thing healed yet? And why don’t they make a foundation that can really cover it up? If only scarves were appropriate at a gym. Her gaze searches the rest of my body, as if she’s expecting to see broken bones. The bruise is all she’ll see; the rest of the damage is on the inside. She swallows and drops her eyes to the paperwork on her desk. “Not a problem,” she says in a clipped voice as she shuffles around some papers, “for now, you can be the new hire on the website without a name or picture.” She lift
s her head and forces a smile, stealing another glance at my neck.
I trace a fingertip across my lips and rise from my seat. “I guess I’ll see you on Monday,” I say, my eyes darting in every direction. I blink a few times, my face still pulsating with heat. “Thanks again for this position, I’m looking forward to getting started.” She shakes my hand, and I leave her office. I take a deep breath, the mixture of sweat and cleaning solution fills my nose as I cross the upper deck of the local gym placed conveniently in the middle of downtown Ann Arbor. Glad that’s over.
My GPS leads me back to the apartment that I now call home. I’ve got to figure out these roads. It’s pretty easy to navigate around here, I just haven’t taken the time to do it. Maybe now’s the time … nah. I’d much rather crawl beneath the covers of Harrison and Isabel’s guest bed—of my bed—for the remainder of this partly cloudy Saturday. This March weather is so strange, one day we’ll get sunshine, the next, sleet, and every once-in-a-while, a light snowfall. It’s not like Oklahoma around here…no, not at all. I’m used to people riding four-wheelers, fishing at the creek, and getting geared up to hunt turkey this time of year. Not that I’m a real outdoorsy gal, but there’s no option for those familiar activities around these parts. I shake my head in dismay. The transition to Ann Arbor has been about as smooth as I could’ve hoped for. So why can’t I shake the depressive state I’ve been drowning in these past two weeks? Is it Jonathan’s intrusion, Ainsley’s betrayal, or the combination of both?
I pull up to the white siding and neatly manicured lawns of the apartment building and find a vacant visitor’s spot toward the far end of the complex. Usually, I have to drive around for a while. Visitor parking spots are few and far between at this complex. Ah—what’s there to complain about? Walking the length of the street isn’t the worst idea … especially because I haven’t worked out since I arrived. There’s no energy or drive for that. My tank is on empty, but at least I had enough pep in my step to get a job and dye my hair. Here goes my exercise for the day. I jog up the stairs, into the apartment, and up the second flight of stairs to the main landing of Isabel and Harrison’s place. Isabel is bustling around in the kitchen, and the twins are playing in their room down the hall.
Isabel pokes her head out of the kitchen holding a container of strawberries. Did my panting give me away? Her head jerks back, “Sorry,” she breathes, “I’m still trying to get used to your hair. It’s so dark.” She tips her head and grins, “It’s beautiful, you’ve got that Snow White look going on, but it’s so different.” With a quick shake of her head, she asks, “Anyway, how’d it go at the gym?”
I shrug one shoulder, lifting a piece of my jet-black hair, “Fine, I start on Monday.”
Isabel disappears again and turns on the tap to rinse the strawberries. “That gym is great,” she calls from the kitchen. “I’m glad you could get a job so quickly—they usually have quite a few applicants there, so it says a lot that they chose you.” Chink-chink. She drops ice-cubes into the empty blender. My stomach growls at the thought of a delicious strawberry smoothie.
“Thanks again, if it wasn’t for you and Harrison putting in a good word for me, I wouldn’t be starting work soon.”
“No problem, we’re just glad you’re here,” she finishes. Vroom! She powers up the blender, but I don’t stick around. I’m not here to burden them. I’ve already occupied a lot of the space in this cozy apartment, so I slink back to the bedroom, close the door behind me, and collapse onto the bed in the corner of my room. There’s a small dresser directly beside the door that I was able to stuff full the day I arrived. The tiny closet located just beyond the foot of the bed is flooded with some of Isabel and Harrison’s storage items. They were kind enough to leave me some hanger space though. I take out my phone from my back pocket, check the screen, then place it down on the wood-finished bedside table before rolling over to face the wall.
Why hasn’t Ainsley texted me? It would be nice to know that she got the key. I squeeze my eyes closed. That’s not what I really want to hear…I want to hear that it was all a mistake. A simple apology is all I need. Heck! At this point, I’d be happy if she just said hello. Somehow, during that one, short hour, I lost my home, my job, my safety, and my best friend. My throat grows tight. A tear slides down my cheek and drops to the pillow. I thought I could trust her. She was all I had left in Oklahoma. My safety depended on her keeping my hiding place at the lake house a secret. How long before that secret was shared? And why didn’t she warn me? She had so many chances to give me a heads-up, but no—she waited until Jonathan found out. Then, she made things worse with the worship team thing, inviting Jonathan to join. She knew how much that would crush me. How could she be so untrustworthy in the end? She was my best friend, she was all I had—and now I’m scrambling to piece together my life in a whole new place.
* * *
“Aunt Hallie?” a little voice calls out. Light floods my sight as I slide open my eyes. Nothing like a wake-up call from a child. With a lethargic roll, I meet two sets of big, blue eyes belonging to my nephew and niece who are poised beside my bed. “Um, we were wondering if you’re gunna come to church with us today?” Branson questions with sweet innocence. I skipped out on church last week. He remembered, and he’s going to make sure I accompany the family today.
Yawning, I smile then say, “Yes, I’ll come to church with you today.” Branson punches the air and runs out of the room, but Bailey stays by my side. “Hi gorgeous,” I reach out and ruffle her curls. “You’re all dressed and ready to go, aren’t you?”
She grins shyly, then leans into the side of the bed, her smile twisting downward. She casts her gaze to my shoulder, then asks, “Did Uncle Jon hurt you?”
What? Her question jolts me out of my sleepy state. “Who told you that?”
She looks down at her tiny hands, then, without a word, crawls into bed with me and facing me, curls up by my side. She gently touches the bruise on my collarbone once she gets settled, then says, “No one—I just know that Uncle Jon is a bad man.”
I’m stunned into complete silence. How much has Bailey been able to pick up from my bruises and behavior these past two weeks? Can she really tell that Jonathan’s a bad man just from me, or is there something I’m missing?
The door creaks quietly, and Isabel pokes her head in. “Bailey,” she begins with a quiet but stern tone, “I told you to let Aunt Hallie sleep.”
Bailey jumps out of bed and runs to her mother, hugs her leg, then says, “I’m sorry, Mommy.”
Bailey scampers out of sight, and Isabel stands in the partially cracked doorway. “Hallie, I’m so sorry they woke you, go back to sleep.”
I rub at my eyes. Should I ask Isabel about what Bailey just said? I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sigh. Now’s not the time. “Actually,” I reply, “I’m coming to church with you today.”
“Don’t feel like you need to. I know this is an adjusting time for you, and we want to be sensitive to that.”
“No, no—I didn’t feel like I could go last week, but the feelings I have about church aren’t for your church, more so for Connect Church. I’m not rejecting church all together, I just need to get back on the horse.”
Isabel looks down at her feet as her painted toes play with the carpet, “Well, we would love to have you, but I know you’re really struggling with some trust issues right now.” She lifts her head, then says, “Take your time, and if you change your mind, just let us know.” She exits the room, leaving me there to contemplate her words.
She’s right, I don’t trust anyone right now. Harrison and Isabel … they’re different—they’re family. But I don’t trust my parents, so I can’t really play the family card. I can’t bring myself to trust the church, and I’ve lost the trust of my best friend … former best friend. I stretch both arms above my head and glance out the window. It’s God with whom I really struggle. My eyes scan the room and fixate on the frame I received at Christmas sitting on the dresser, the
only one I brought from Oklahoma. Jeremiah 29:11 has been my meditation, but how am I supposed to trust God with my future and his plans to prosper me and not to harm me when I’m bruised, friendless, and starting over in a completely new place—when I feel like I’m going to be taking flight for the rest of my life?
Shaking my head, I rise from my bed and trudge to the bathroom. I don’t have the answers, but a tiny voice in the back of my mind is telling me to hold on. I can’t figure out why God led me here by forcing my escape from Oklahoma, but if this verse is true, then there must be hope…somewhere, somehow.
Nations Church is upbeat, inviting, and current. The worship team closes out their last song, and although I’ve put up a bit of a wall, it’s good to be at church again. I take a seat and sigh heavily. This is a church where no one knows my name, my past, or the darkness that lurks in the corners of my heart. I’m stiff-arming God, but that’s my little secret for now.
As the worship team exits the stage, a familiar man steps up and moves toward the microphone standing in the spotlight. “Welcome to Nations Church,” he says, adjusting his round, designer-framed glasses. My eyes scan the crowd and search for his flawless wife. It takes only moments to spot her long, perfectly curled locks. I bite my lip and I lower my gaze. I could’ve put a little more attention to my appearance. The rushed departure this morning hasn’t done me any favors. I lift my shoulders and pick up my head. Why do I always have to compare myself? “I’m Tom Romano, and I’m here to share a few announcements before we hear from our pastor.”