Remember to Forget (5 page)

Brushing the cookie crumbs from his fingers, Trevor grabbed his toolbox from under the sawhorse. Why they were going to all this trouble and expense, he didn’t know. They rarely filled the dining room as it was. But he admired the hope reflected in this remodeling project. And it gave him a way to fill his time. A way to forget.

She watched in horror as the bus rolled out of the parking lot.

Chapter Five

Y
ou want half of my sandwich?”

Maggie’s head jerked against the back of her seat. She fought to hold on to the fading image of her dream. To keep that flicker of hope kindled inside her.

But like a gust of wind, slumber slipped away, snuffing out a fragile memory she’d all but forgotten. The river lapping gently at her feet, cooling her calves . . .

She rubbed her eyes and blinked. Where was she?
Ah, the bus.
Outside, the western sky matched the tinted windows of the Greyhound, and the interstate spooled out before them like a never-ending silver ribbon.

Her seatmate, a toothless old man, held out a limp triangle wrapped in clear plastic. “Want half my sandwich?” he asked again. “You’re welcome to it.”

She made herself return his smile. “No thank you. You go ahead.”

She was hungry, but not
that
hungry.
Yet,
she told herself wryly. This time tomorrow she might be kicking herself for turning down that soggy wad of bread and cheese.

The man shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She turned in her seat and rested her forehead on the cool window glass. It vibrated with the rhythmic
thump
of the highway beneath the wheels, and a childhood song her mother had sung came back to her. It played over and over in her head.

The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round . . .

They’d been on the road for hours, and with each mile she breathed a little easier. She dozed off again briefly, but the vacuum-pressured wheeze of the bus’s brakes roused her. Passengers rustled around her, gathering their possessions in preparation for the stop.

After pulling off the interstate, the driver parked at an all-night diner. Maggie followed the other passengers off the bus. The stench of diesel made her cough, and she jogged away from the fumes and toward the building.

Once inside, she waited in line to use the rest room, then washed her face and neck in the grimy sink. She tried to do something with her hair, but without a hairbrush, her efforts were wasted. She ended up slicking the limp strands behind her ears. Maybe she could pick up a few toiletries in the store adjacent to the restaurant. She wandered into the shop and selected a wide-toothed comb that would fit in her pocket, along with a toothbrush and a tube of ChapStick. Her stomach tried to remind her of its empty state as she walked by a display of candy and potato chips, but she ignored it. She didn’t know how far the wad of cash in her pocket would have to stretch, but she could hold off at least until they got to Columbus.

She turned toward the checkout and stopped short as a row of pay phones outside the windows caught her eye. She paid for her items and took the bag outside. The bus was idling in front of the building,
but several passengers were still inside the store. She had a few minutes.

Slipping two quarters into the far pay phone, she dialed the apartment.

The phone rang half a dozen times before a voice croaked, “Hello?”

Maggie’s heart thudded at hearing Kevin’s voice. Was it possible that she actually missed him? He sounded strangely subdued and, for a minute, she felt a little sorry for him.

But she pushed away the unwelcome thought when he barked, “Who’s there?” into the phone.

She heard the all-too-familiar tone of agitation in his voice, heard him rattle the lamp on the nightstand. If Kevin was in bed, it must be after ten. Or else he’d gone to bed with a bottle. She peered through the window at the clock in the rest stop.
Twenty minutes after nine.
Whatever concern she’d felt seconds earlier vanished on the breeze.

“What the . . . ?” The voice in her ear spewed a curse and confirmed her suspicions. He was drunk. She heard his breathing, could feel the tension.

“Maggie? Is that you, Maggie? Where are you?” In a few seconds his terseness would turn into a string of curse words and he’d start kicking things around the apartment. Her resolve stiffened. If she were there, if she went back, how long would it be before
she
was the thing he was kicking around?

“Where’s my car? Where’s my fifty bucks? And where’s my Jack Daniel’s?” His voice gathered venom. “I don’t have time for this. I have to work in the morning, you know. So help me, Maggie, you lousy little—”

She dropped the receiver back in place. Had she really thought for a minute that he might be worried about her? That he might miss her or be concerned that something had happened to her?

She was a fool.

Again.

The grinding
hiss
of compression brakes made her look back to the
bus that sat idling at the edge of the parking lot. A terrifying thought struck her. What if Kevin could somehow trace her call? Did pay phone numbers show up on caller ID? Kevin was good with the computer. If there were a way to trace where a call came from, he would figure it out. Had she blown her cover before she’d tasted even twenty-four hours of freedom?

Her gaze flicked around the parking lot as she made her way through two rows of parked cars. She was being ridiculous. She’d ridden the bus for hours. Even if Kevin left New York right now, he’d never catch up with her. She should feel relief that he was at the apartment, that he’d answered the phone. Besides, he would never believe she could get this far away without him knowing it.

But she’d been stupid to call him. For all she knew, when he picked up the phone, the caller ID had spelled it out for him:
Maggie is calling from this particular bus stop. Come to Pennsylvania
(or wherever in the world she was)
and get her.

A new thought struck terror in her chest. What if Kevin saw her location on caller ID and called the local police? They could be here within minutes. He wouldn’t be above telling them that she’d stolen his car, and in that case they would have the authority to take her in—or worse, hold her until Kevin came for her.

The passengers were now waiting in queue to get back on the bus. The engine revved and diesel puffed from the exhaust. Panic seized her. If she got on that bus, she’d be a sitting duck. It wouldn’t take much for the cops to discover where the bus had originated. They’d arrest her and haul her back to New York.

But if she didn’t get back on the bus, she might never make it past this little spot in the road. She hadn’t put nearly enough miles between her and Kevin Bryson yet. And besides, she’d paid fare all the way to Columbus. She couldn’t afford to buy another bus ticket.

The bus horn blared, and the behemoth inched forward. Kevin’s cursing echoed in her head. She felt like the rope in a vicious tug of war.
Finally the bus won and she broke into a run.

But even as she ran toward it, the bus crawled away. She broke into a sprint, her breath coming in sharp, painful gasps. “Stop! Wait! Stop!”

Her plea was carried away on an acrid belch of diesel fuel, and she watched in horror as the bus rolled out of the parking lot. The engine puffed and groaned, shifting gears and gathering speed. When the Greyhound finally eased down the ramp onto the interstate, Maggie slumped to the ground, burying her face in her hands.

What would she do? Her money was dwindling fast and, like an idiot, she’d convinced Kevin that she had run away. If she’d stayed away from the stupid telephone, he might think she was dead.

Now he probably assumed she was still in the Civic. If he had the police hunting for her, that’s the vehicle they’d be searching for. The thought caused her to relax a little. She smiled to think how surprised he’d be when the police tracked down the car. Of course, the carjacker had probably abandoned the Civic long ago.

None of that mattered now. The bus wasn’t an option anymore.

Leftover heat from the afternoon sun seeped up through the asphalt. Maggie wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the tail of her blouse and trudged back toward the convenience store.

If there was an ounce of comfort in losing them both on the same day, it was that they’d gone together.

Chapter Six

T
revor stood at the curb and looked west. The sun rode low in the sky. It would be dark in half an hour. He stepped into the street but turned back to see Bart Johannsen waving from the doorway of the inn, as Trevor knew he would be. The old man’s yellow white beard nearly reached the bib of his engineer overalls.

Trevor smiled to himself. Wren would be nagging her husband to trim his shaggy mane soon.

Bart dropped his hands to clasp cigar-thick fingers over a belly that had seen too many of Wren’s homemade cream pies. “See ya tomorrow, Trev.”

Trevor waved back but winced at the nickname. He’d never gone by Trev. At least not after his son was born. He turned away and hurried across the alley to his pickup. Bart couldn’t know how much it hurt to hear Trev’s name.

It was only one of a million reminders every single day. The empty swing set in his backyard. The tricycle that sat abandoned in a corner of the garage. The day-care kids traipsing behind Miss Valdez on a field trip up Main Street—kids Trev would have started kindergarten with this fall.

Trev
. It was his given name.
Trev Alex.
Trevor hadn’t been crazy about the idea when Amy first brought it up, but she was adamant. “I want to name him after you, but this way nobody will saddle the poor kid with Junior.” She’d wrinkled her nose then—that goofy expression that always made him think of a Chinese pug puppy.

He’d pretended to be reluctant to go along with her idea for naming their baby after him, but secretly, he’d felt honored. And when their little boy was born, nobody could have been a prouder dad than Trevor Ashlock.