Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
She looks at her watch. “That’s all I can wait. If you’re not back in five, I’ve gotta go.”
“I’ll be back.” I turn and run across the lobby toward the elevators. “God, if you’re listening, you better have me back down here in five minutes,” I mutter.
The elevator’s waiting and I jump in, suddenly filled with energy and purpose. On the way up to the suite, I don’t second-guess myself. Not once. As much as I like Frank, the idea of me jilting him at the altar isn’t as horrifying as actually marrying him. I can’t go through with it. I just can’t. Maybe I should stay and face the music—look Frank in the eye, listen to my mother’s chastisement and blame. But I can’t face it.
I just need to get away. Escape.
In no time at all, the elevator doors open. Full of determination and a steel I don’t recognize in myself, I let myself back into the honeymoon suite, hoping no one notices.
“Oh, you’re back, finally,” Mom says, from the chair where Kitty did my hair. Armed with a can of hairspray and a teasing comb, Kitty stands over Mom. Anything could be about to happen.
“I gotta get Frank my passport,” I say, heading for the safe. “He needs it to check us in apparently.”
“You saw him?” she asks, horrified, only narrowly missing a squirt of hairspray to the eye.
I type in the code to the safe but it doesn’t open. Shit. This is all I need. I can’t have forgotten the code. That can’t be God’s plan for me. The idea of a trip to the airport fills me with such relief, getting stuck here can’t be my destiny.
“No, I ran into Pete in the lobby. He’s gonna get it to Frank.”
“Well, why didn’t he come up to get it? He can’t expect you to be wandering around in…”
I tune Mom out and type in the code again. This time the click of the lock feels like I’ve reached the summit of a roller coaster. My hands start to shake. I’m excited and terrified at the same time.
I pull out my passport and hold it up toward Mom, careful not to let my driver’s license slip out from the pages where I stuffed it last night. “It’s fine, Mom. It gives me something to do so I don’t get nervous.” I eye my purse next to the window, but I can’t risk taking it. Mom will know something’s up.
She rolls her eyes, and Lydia takes her attention by asking her to referee an argument she’s having with Kitty.
I take in the scene. My mom, snapping at Kitty and trying to cajole Marion into standing up so she doesn’t wrinkle her dress. Kitty and Lydia trade insults like they’re playing snap like we did when we were younger during endless rainy days stuck in the trailer. The suite is twice as big as the trailer I’ve called home for all twenty-eight years of my life, but it’s still too small for all of us. We’ve spent our lives on top of each other, arguing, competing, surviving.
I’m done.
I curl my hand around my passport, grab Lydia’s gray hoodie from where it’s slung on the back of a chair, and slip out.
I race toward the elevator, stuffing my passport into my bra. If I run into anyone, I don’t want to have to explain why I’m holding it.
As I get into the elevator, I press the down button a thousand times in the hopes it will get me to the lobby faster. After all this, I don’t want Polly to have driven off, but as I get to the first floor, I see the amber plastic light of her cab over the flower arrangement in the lobby. I take in a breath. This is it. I made it.
I keep my head down, like anyone’s going to miss the girl in the white dress sprinting toward the exit.
“Excuse me!” someone calls behind me, but I pretend I haven’t heard them. I need to get to Polly. I need to get out of here.
Polly must see me coming, because she opens the passenger door. I’m just a couple of yards from the exit when I feel a hand on my arm and my heart sinks.
I stop and turn, accepting defeat.
I’ve been caught.
When I look up, I expect to see Frank staring back at me—but it’s a small man with jet-black hair who I don’t recognize. “You dropped this,” he says, handing me Lydia’s hoodie.
I laugh. I’m still free. “Thank you!” I say, beaming at him.
I forget any pretense of making a graceful exit. I run to the cab, to Polly, to freedom.
Nothing, not even God, is going to stop me.
TWO
Byron
When I left my hometown of Star Falls, Colorado, nearly fifteen years ago, I never thought I’d be back. Not even for the holidays. I knew I didn’t belong here. Which is why it’s so surprising that being back feels… not as strange as I expected it to. And the plaid shirt I’m wearing feels oddly comfortable. I don’t know why I kept it all these years. I found it at the back of my closet in New York and stuffed it in my luggage, reasoning that I’d seen eighteen Januarys in Star Falls and none of them were warm.