Chapter 2
That first night atthe hotel, I went across the street to the gas station and bought a pair of scissors and a trucker hat to give me some small disguise until I could dye my hair brown. I found a ride with another truck driver the next morning and he and his friends worked together to get me as far as North Carolina. I don’t know why but I trusted him with my story, well parts of it when he started asking me questions. He reminded me of my dad in a lot of ways when I was just a kid. Before Mom left and he blamed me for his life going to shit. Anyway, this guy was fatherly and genuinely wanted to help me out of a terrible situation. I told him I was running from an abusive relationship. He ended up having a contact who was able to fabricate me a Georgia license with my alias Magnolia Grace on it. I need to lay low. I’ve been afraid to watch the news. Scared that I will see my face with the words wanted above my photograph.
I showed up in Crimson Cove yesterday and am staying at the Brinnon Motel until I can figure out my next move. Two weeks have passed, and I am still free. I don’t know where my next stop is once I leave from here. The thought of always being on the go is depressing. Greg, the truck driver who got me this far said this was a good quiet place for hiding away from the rest of the world.
I’ve been sitting on the beach for an hour soaking in the peaceful sound as the waves crash the shore. It’s beautiful here. Beautiful enough that I do want to stay. At least for a while. I am going to meet a realtor later today about renting a small cottage apartment. I’ve even been searching the local job listings. I haven’t found anything yet but there are a couple of restaurants that sound promising. I don’t exactly need the money right now, but I don’t want to draw attention to myself by being too much of a recluse. I need to blend in.
Standing up, I dust my backside off and go back to my room to freshen up. I was afraid that they wouldn’t want to give me a room without a credit card, but I showed my fake identification card and told them I lost everything when my house burnt down. The story worked.
I hope it will be enough for the realtor too.
The property isn’t too far from where I am staying and is even more beautiful than the advertisement I saw in the local newspaper. The outside of the house is a cotton candy blue with a navy door and white trim. Thick greenery surrounds the small home giving it a tropical atmosphere.
The realtor comes out the front door and its only now that I realize it’s a double. There is another navy door and the units are numbered one and two. I am not thrilled about having a neighbor so close by, but the rent is affordable and all-inclusive of utilities, and the rental is furnished.
“Hi, you must be Magnolia was it?”
“Please. Call me Maggie.”
“Okay, Maggie. My name is Ann and I work for the Beachfront Rental Company. Would you like to come in and take the tour?”
“Absolutely.”
Ann leads me inside and the scent of lemon sugar cookies hits me automatically.
The walls are painted a pale yellow and the flooring is hardwood. The place is small with the living room and kitchen connected. Beyond the kitchen is a full bath and a single bedroom. “It’s perfect,” I announce unable to contain my excitement. “Where do I sign?”
“Well we need to do a background check, and you’ll need to pay your first and last month’s rent upfront. Once everything clears you will be able to move in.”
I was anticipating this. “What if I pay cash today. Right now.” I pull an envelope from my purse.
“Um well...” She rolls her bottom lips inward. “You seem like a nice girl with a strong southern name. Okay. I will go out to my car and get the lease.”
Once the door closes behind her I let out a squeal and clap my hands together. My first real place that is all mine. No jerk boyfriend telling me what I can and can’t do. Before him it was my father. For the first time in my life I am free. Well that is for now.
Ann returns with a pen and I count out the money.
“Here is your key. You share a unit with Calder Michaelson, but I’m sure you will meet him soon enough. Have you found employment yet?”
“No. You hiring?” I laugh.”
She smiles. “Try Pier Three. A good friend of mine owns it. Ask for Becky. Tell her I sent you.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Once Ann leaves, I lock up and go back to the motel to check out. All I have is my duffle bag of clothes and toiletries. I’ll need to buy a pillow and bedding. Groceries. I hope they have a taxi service or not having a car is going to be an issue.
Back at my new place I cover all the mundane items checking off my mental list as I go through my new living quarters. I open up all the kitchen drawers and cabinets. They are stocked with dishware and silverware. Under the kitchen sink I find a jug of laundry detergent. I didn’t even think about laundry. I need to wash my dirty stuff in the worst way. I will have to be on the lookout for a laundromat tomorrow when I go to the store.
There is another door I didn’t notice earlier it’s between the kitchen and living room. Probably a storage closet. Only when I go to twist the knob it won’t open. I yank and pull but nothing happens. I go to sit on the couch, but that stupid door is taunting me. So much so that I give up on go out onto the porch. I sit on the steps and look up at the moon getting lost in my thoughts. Wondering if Flip called the police. Wondering if I will get away with what I have done and if God can forgive me. If I can forgive me. The white paint on the stairs is cracked and peeling. I pick at it and flick the strips away, hoping that I find my way soon.
While I am contemplating my recent life choices a truck pulls up and a guy gets out of the passenger side. The first thing I notice about him is that he is tall with incredibly dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He’s too far away for me to make out his eyes but he’s dressed in a pair of grey athletic shorts and a sleeveless black t-shirt. He grabs something from the truck. A basketball. I hear him say something to the guy driving the truck then start walking toward me. This must be my neighbor. I stand up and move from the steps to get out of his path.
Moonlit grey. That’s the color of his eyes. He stops just short of me and digs a set of keys out of his pocket. I can’t help but study the tribal turtle tattoo on his right bicep. My gaze is immediately drawn to the dark ink. He’s muscular but not in that beefy way—he’s lean but not too skinny either.