Chapter 8

*This chapter was not intended to be so romantically- minded, but it worked out that way. Also, I have some more story written out by hand, and while it may get some editing first... it should hopefully be typed in soon. Sorry for such a wait for this one- if anyone's still reading.*

Half an hour later, Leslie was lugging her duffel bag into another hotel. She watched the news on the lobby TV for a few minutes and browsed through a USA Today, wondering if she’d see a mention of her own disappearance. Leslie wanted to know if the police suspected foul play, although she didn’t imagine they would- she’d taken a duffel bag, clothes, money, and a few other belongings with her. She wasn’t sure if she preferred them to think that or not. If the police suspected foul play, they’d probably be more anxious to find her; if they didn’t, though, someone would most likely probe further into her past, which would probably be a bad thing as well. Leslie had left as few traces as possible to her hometown when she’d moved, but she didn’t doubt that Jordan would investigate them with fervor.

Leslie sighed, thinking again of Jordan. She loved him too much to drag him into this, but she longed to have him with her. If Jordan was here, he’d make her laugh enough to forget- if only for a few seconds- that the situation was so dire. He’d be worried, too, but just sharing the worry would make it a little easier.

She twirled the engagement ring on her finger. It was simple, quaint, with two small pearls above and below a larger one. The metal work was intricate and beautiful, and Jordan told her later that he’d been so worried she might not like it. She’d reassured him that it was perfect, and she really believed it was. She watched the light reflect off of the shiny metal onto the lobby walls, and slid into a nostalgic reverie.

She thought back to a few months ago. It was their anniversary, and she’d already left a handmade journal for him in his desk drawer. He’d used his connections at the newspaper to make a special newspaper printout for her. Leslie assumed the special Camden Couple print on her desk was simply his anniversary gift. The four-page paper had a whole slew of stories, mostly written by Jordan, but a few were written by their friends. Interspersed were photos of them throughout their relationship, picked out painstakingly and placed with journalistic care.

Leslie had torn through the paper, reading every word and marveling at the amount of effort he’d put in. She had grinned as she read an editorial, a news article, even a movie review. The advertisements featured her and Jordan as models or spokespeople for real and imaginary products, and the caricatures of them in the comic made her laugh out loud.

Finally, as she turned to the back page, her eyes jumped to the bottom, where a small clear plastic bag had been glued on as part of an ad-

For a jewelry store.

“Adams Jewelers: When You Know It’s Forever.”

Leslie’s mouth had fallen open, and she’d whirled her chair around to see Jordan standing in the doorway. He was leaned against the doorframe casually, a soft smile across his face, watching her. He walked over, took the ring out of its tiny bag, and got down on one knee to ask her officially.

But he had to have known already. Jordan hadn’t looked nervous at all- perhaps because he’d seen her face when she turned around, or maybe just because he knew her that well. Leslie hadn’t even known she was ready to marry him yet, but when she spotted the ring, the only response she could think of was “yes.”

She even remembered thinking, as her excited co-workers showered their congratulations, that it was fortunate she had chosen Camden as the place for her to start over. After all, if she hadn’t moved to Camden, she would never have met Jordan.

Now, as Leslie thought about it, a part of her wished she had never met him. If she’d never met Jordan, Leslie couldn’t have hurt him when she left.

What bothered Leslie the most was that she couldn't tell Jordan why she was leaving. He would most likely end up believing that she left because of him, because she had cold feet or something. She knew Jordan well, and knew he'd worry that her disappearance was somehow his fault. He'd start out confused, and end up convincing himself he was guilty of somehow driving Leslie away- and she wouldn't be around to dissuade him.

Leslie opened her eyes, taking off her ring and stuffing it into a tiny zippered pocket in her purse. Although her hand felt awkward without it, she couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. She wiped away a tear as the concierge came over to tell her the room was ready. He handed her the key, and offered to take her bags. Leslie politely declined, taking the key and hoisting her single bag over her shoulder. She walked down the hallway, nodding at other guests and checking the number of each room door. Her body seemed to be taking over; her mind was still distracted.

She realized, suddenly, that she’d left the Camden Couple on her bulletin board at work. Leslie longed to read the articles again. She’d read them over and over, but it didn’t matter. In each, he had made clear how much he loved her and how well he knew her.

He didn’t know everything, though. Leslie had thought maybe someday she would tell him- but only when she felt safe at last.

She now knew that day would never come. She would never tell read the romantic newspaper again, she would never tell Jordan everything, she would never marry him- and she would never feel safe.

She closed the door of her new room, locking the door and deadbolt before she even set down her bags.

Chapter 7

Leslie stopped at the first hotel, parked, and toted her luggage into the lobby. She waited in a long line until she reached the front counter, only to have a sickeningly perky receptionist inform her that the hotel had no vacancy. A few minutes later, Leslie trudged into the next hotel, her temporary optimism fading. Again, there were absolutely no available rooms this late. Apparently there was some kind of youth convention taking over the entire area.

As she walked back to her car at the last hotel, Leslie saw two buses pull in. A rowdy mass of kids who looked to be about high-school-age piled out, sprinting and jumping and gabbing with one another. Leslie shuddered a bit. She didn’t want to drive longer, but she also knew that she probably wouldn’t have gotten much good sleep with a lot of young students running around all night.

She got back on the highway, and stopped a couple of exits down at a rest stop. A quick bathroom stop and some sort of caffeine ought to give her enough energy to drive on for another half hour, at least. Leslie reluctantly turned the key to her car, and the engine sputtered a moment before dying.

Oh, no, not now, Leslie thought, tired. Don’t do this to me! She tried again, hoping it had just been a fluke.

The car sounded even weaker now, and made one last dying attempt at starting. Leslie sighed. Maybe she should’ve kept her own car, after all. Leslie looked around, surveying the area. At least this rest stop was well-lit.

Leslie popped the hood, and got out of her car. She didn’t know much about cars, really; she always relied on AAA to fix her car problems. Leslie knew she couldn’t exactly call them now, though, so she’d probably have to take care of this on her own.

Leslie glanced down at the mass of tangled metal that most people knew as the engine, and she realized that she didn’t even have a clue where to start.

“Need some help, miss?” a voice called behind her. Leslie jumped, startled, and turned around. She twisted her key between her fingers in case she needed to defend herself.

Leslie found herself facing an attractive man about her age. His light brown hair was a little long, falling in the way of his eyes, and could’ve probably used a haircut. But he was undeniably cute, and he looked friendly, and Leslie returned his grin with caution.

“I’m not sure what the problem is,” she said, “but it won’t start.”

“Want me to take a look?” the man asked in a delightfully Southern accent. Everyone she’d seen lately on her trip had a similar accent, but it was still surprising to her ears every time- and a little endearing.

Leslie smiled gratefully. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all,” he said, grabbing a tall metal flashlight from the bed of his truck. Leslie tightened her grip on the keys. He seemed affable, but she wasn’t about to take any chances. He flicked the light on, and checked and tinkered around with a few things under the hood. Leslie stood back, her hands in her pockets, feeling awkward and unable to help. She also, guiltily, resisted the urge to stand further back and enjoy the view as the man bent over her front bumper.

He shook his head at one point, and looked over at her. “How far you itchin’ to get in this thing?”

“To Florida,” Leslie responded, sounding more sure than she felt.

His eyes widened. “Is that so.” It was more of a statement than a question, and Leslie felt a little queasy. This car wasn’t that bad, was it?

Finally, he smirked. “A-ha!” He stood up and walked over to his truck to take out something small. As he passed Leslie, tossing the part between his hands, he asked for her name.

“Le-ayla,” she finished. “Layla.”

“Named after Old Slowhand’s song?”

“Yup, I think so,” Leslie accepted. She wasn’t even quite sure she was old enough for that, but she let out a breath, relieved that the bullet had been dodged. She’d nearly slipped and told him her real name. But now, to get the attention off of herself. “And your name?”

“Jim,” he said. He wiped his right hand on his jeans, getting rid of most of the grease, and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Layla.”

“And you, Jim,” Leslie replied.

Jim leaned over the engine again for just a minute or two. “How about we give ‘er a try?” he asked, motioning for Leslie to get back in the car. “Go ahead and start ‘er.”

Leslie climbed in the driver’s seat and put the key in. Closing her eyes, hopeful, she turned the key.

The engine roared to life, and Jim pumped his fist in the air. “Yesss!”

Leslie left the car running, and got out to thank him. She insisted on giving him some money for his trouble, but Jim wouldn’t take it.

“Ma’am, I’m glad to help.” Her resolves started to weaken when he grinned that lopsided grin. “I see you’re not from around here, but we like to treat the ladies kindly in the South.”

Leslie felt like she’d been thrown into a chick flick. Guys like this really existed? She still loved Jordan with all her heart, but she couldn’t resist being a little taken aback by this guy’s charm. “Well, in any case—thank you.”

“You have a safe trip, Layla.” The man sauntered back to his truck, giving her a casual wave.

Leslie climbed into her car, and sat for just a moment, shaking her head, before she drove away from the rest stop. God bless the South.

Word Count: 6594 (13.1 %)