Chapter 2

Still, the adrenaline coursed through her veins. Leslie drove along the interstate, trying frantically to figure out what to do next. At some point, she needed to figure out where she was going, and what she would do once she got there, but for now her mind just urged her to run, run, run, and it was all Leslie could do to oblige.

The scenery passed, the night continued, and Leslie slowly felt her jitters succumb to fatigue. She listened to the radio softly, letting each station distract her until its static was too much to stand. The sun wasn’t up yet, but the sky was beginning to lighten ever-so-softly, and Leslie felt she owned the deserted road. For a moment, she felt invincible, as though perhaps she could really just drive away from the mess.

She wanted to hold onto that fleeting feeling forever, but soon the sun rose, and the world dragged itself out of bed. Leslie was joined on the road by angry semi truck drivers and arrogant businessmen and hurried mothers with children in the backseat. The stress crept up on her, and soon she was screaming at cars, cutting off others, and clutching the wheel with white-knuckled hands. Leslie pulled off at the next juncture, getting onto a state highway. It was much smaller, and she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The sun soaked Leslie’s side of the car, and the warmth seemed to percolate her skin. She began to blink, slowly, and realized only then that she was sleepy. Leslie drove a few more minutes before seeing a sign for a small town- or at least a hotel and a few restaurants. She pulled off into the parking lot of a hotel, and walked inside with her purse.

“Hello, Miss!” a cheery worker called. Leslie couldn’t identify his slight accent, but she loved it. Her eyes adjusted to the soft lighting of the front room, and rather than a blasé blend of boring beige and bouquets, saw a bright barrage of fabrics and patterns. While Leslie was certain the mismatched menagerie of furniture and lack of stony formality startled some guests, her heart warmed at the inn’s eccentricity. The man who had greeted her- the owner, she guessed- walked behind the desk, straightened his bright red dress shirt, and smiled genuinely. “Welcome to the Carabee Inn. Have you reserved a room?”

Leslie returned his smile, relishing his affability, and replied that she was looking for a room. The hotel owner- his nametag said Andre, she noted- launched into a short spiel on the Carabee Inn’s amenities, and Leslie couldn’t help but grin. Andre’s passion for the hotel- emphasized by very large gestures as he spoke- combined with his slight accent, made her want to giggle. The stress of running away began to subside, slowly, as the pleasantly peculiar man distracted Leslie from her thoughts. Finally, he offered Leslie a room rate much lower than she’d expected to pay, and she readily accepted, remembering at the last moment to pay in cash. By doing so, and by avoiding a large hotel chain, she hoped to remain untracked longer. Unfortunately, Andre informed her, she couldn’t check in for another fifty minutes, but she could enjoy a complimentary donut in the meantime.

Her stomach seemed to rejoice at the word “donut” and Leslie was surprised to realize how starving she was. It made sense; glancing at the clock, Leslie calculated that it had been twelve hours, at least, since she last ate. She’d picked up snacks at Wal-Mart, but her stomach had replaced appetite with butterflies and nerves, and the snacks were yet unopened. Leslie skipped the donut and asked Andre about the local eateries. He gallantly opened the door for her and pointed her in the direction of several restaurants, but a slight breeze made her decision easy. The intoxicating smell of bacon drifted from a Denny’s across the street, and Leslie followed the scent like a starved Labrador.

Leslie walked in and immediately headed towards her favorite booth in the corner. She’d never been to this particular restaurant before, but in her mind, each Denny’s was fairly interchangeable. Perhaps the corporation liked it that way; identical restaurants mean that it’s never unfamiliar. Everything was the same, from the haughty manager who really had no reason to be so cocky, to the high school busboys realizing that maybe college isn’t such a bad idea, down to the waitress who looked like hell because a manager- or maybe just life- had forced her to work an extra shift.

Oh, and there she is, Leslie thought.

With notepad in hand, a woman approached her table, with bags under her eyes somehow managing to rival Leslie’s own. Leslie looked at her for a moment, and though they’d never met, Leslie recognized her. The wisps beside the waitress’s sloppy ponytail were adamantly refusing to cooperate, and it appeared that the waitress had given up on them hours ago. The woman’s bloodshot eyes and forced smile failed to fully veil her frustration and fatigue, and Leslie could only wonder at what pain lied beneath that. She knew it was there, because Leslie had been that woman. Hell, maybe she still was.

Taking a cue from the waitress, Leslie slipped on a mask of good mornings and pleasantries. She ordered first one meal, and then another. Leslie tried, at first, to resist shoveling the food down, but she soon gave up on that. Finally, finished, she sat back against the cool plastic of the booth and stretched. The dingy Denny’s had served her well, and despite her lapse in judgment ordering regular coffee, Leslie found herself ten times sleepier than before. Leslie thanked her waitress, and tipped her as well as she could afford. Looking at the woman’s weary smile a final time, Leslie wished her all the best, with all her heart.