They needed another cleaning, though, so grabbing the same rag she’d used earlier, she began scrubbing again, taking her time, making sure the primer would stick. Cleaning and scrubbing, while the music sometimes made her feel like dancing. She could already imagine how pretty the kitchen would look when morning sunlight filtered through the windows.
It was late by the time she finished. Really late. For some people, it might even be considered morning, and because Beverly wanted to make sure she heard Tommie when he woke up, she lay down on the couch in the living room. Somehow she dozed off, like her brain simply decided to shut down, but she was awake even before she heard Tommie coming down the steps.
Gone was the relief from the night before. She didn’t feel like she had after waking from the dream about the pirate or even when her mind had begun tumbling after Peg mentioned that she looked familiar. Rather, there was a low-level sense of dread, like an unpleasant hum, one that hinted she’d missed something important in her escape.
Gary would have found her identification and phone in the house, signaling her intent to stay off the grid. Without ID, she wouldn’t be able to fly anywhere, so Gary’s first stops would be the train and bus stations. She’d already known that, though, which were the reasons for her precautions. She’d also known there were a dozen buses headed in different directions that morning, and Gary would learn that, too, but since he had no idea when she’d left, she would be more difficult to trace. What would Gary do next?
He’d speak with the ticket sellers, but what would he learn? No one would remember a mother and son. No one would remember a long-haired blonde. After that, he’d probably start interviewing the bus drivers, but with so many possibilities that weekend, it would take time. He might, however, eventually stumble across her driver, but what would he learn? Again, no mother and son traveling together. He would also learn that the driver had been replaced with another and that no mother and son had either arrived at a destination or departed together. Even if either driver had seen her and Tommie sitting together by glancing in the rearview mirror—doubtful, since Tommie was so small—would the second driver remember exactly where and when they’d gotten off? Who could possibly remember such a thing, especially after the passage of time, with so many stops, with so many people getting on and off every step of the way? It would be akin to remembering a random face in a passing crowd.
She was safe, she decided, because she’d been careful. She was safe because she’d thought of everything, because she’d known exactly how Gary would conduct his search. And yet she could still feel the anxiety, inching upward inside her like bubbles rising through water, and when the realization suddenly came to her, it felt as though Gary himself had punched her in the stomach.
Cameras, she thought.
Oh God.
What if the bus stations had cameras?
In the morning, I went for a run beneath a cloudless Florida sky. The air was thick with humidity, and by the time I hit the beach, I had to strip off my shirt and use it as a makeshift bandanna to keep the sweat from pouring into my eyes.
I ran in the hard-packed sand near the water’s edge, passing by Bobby T’s and a string of motels and hotels, including the Don, before turning around and making my way back to my place. I wrung out my shirt, shorts, and socks before hopping in the shower to cool off. Afterward, all clothes went into the washer, and only after two cups of coffee did I feel ready to start the day.
Picking up my guitar, I spent the next couple of hours tweaking the song I’d sung for Morgan, thinking again that it was close but not exactly right and feeling that there was something special there, if only I could find it. As I continued to tinker, however, my thoughts kept returning to the question of whether I would ever see Morgan again.
I had lunch, went for a walk on the beach, then continued trying different variations on the song until it was time for me to leave for Bobby T’s. Because it was Sunday, I didn’t expect much of a crowd, but when I got there, every table was already filled. Scanning the audience, I noted that Morgan and her friends weren’t there, and I did my best to ignore a pang of disappointment.
I played the first set—a mix of crowd favorites and my own songs—then rolled into the next set, and then the third, before I started taking requests. By the halfway point in the show, the crowd had grown. It wasn’t quite the size of the Friday-night crowd, but there were a number of people standing, and more people continued to wander in from the beach.
With fifteen minutes to go, Morgan and her friends showed up. Somehow, despite the size of the crowd, they were able to find seats. I caught Morgan’s eye, and she gave a little wave. When I had a single song left to play, I cleared my throat.