I smiled weakly. “I know that. Dad mentioned it when he was trying to cheer me up.”
I sniffed, wiping my tears away with my shirt. “I’m worried everyone’s going to forget about me.”
A lump in my throat prevented me from continuing.
Taking my hand, he held it gently between his. “I’ll remember you, Charlotte.”
“I think I see them!” someone shouted from behind us.
He looked at me; the look of sadness and heartbreak that must have mirrored my own was written over his face. We lunged at each other at the same time, and I held him in the tightest hug I could muster up.
My tears plopped onto his shoulder, and I felt a wall, brick by brick, form around my heart. Protecting it from the hurt that I was feeling. This wasn’t a pain I ever wanted to feel again. I wouldn’t allow it.
What I didn’t realize was that by shutting out the pain of leaving him, I pushed him away completely. And I wouldn’t know what I was missing until I returned to Hope Lake.
1
The bus rolled to a stop. A blinking yellow light hung over a pair of rickety train tracks. They looked defunct with the chipped white safety bars remaining at attention on the rusted metal poles. Squinting through the darkness, I spied a large green sign next to it. It swung back and forth in the May breeze.
HOPE LAKE
25 MILES
It was barely legible in the dense fog. It’s what happened in valleys like this—the fog would blanket the town until the sun burned it away. Everything settles in Hope Lake. The weather, the people. My mother’s voice echoed in my head. Remember that, Charlotte. Don’t go back, it sucks people in.
I remembered her words wearily, rolling out my neck. Every inch of me was stiff, cramped from the fabric seat and the stale bus air. It didn’t help that I was wedged against the window thanks to the mountain-size guy in my neighboring seat. His long legs were outstretched into the darkened aisle, perfect for tripping an unsuspecting person on his or her way to the onboard restroom. He was snoring away, oblivious to the fact that he kept half the bus awake with the sound. It only added to my sour mood.
The ride should have been a couple of bumpy hours by bus to my destination, a sleepy Pennsylvania town in the middle of nowhere. But with weekend traffic, roadwork, and a dozen drop-off stops that I didn’t realize were a part of the route when I bought the one-way ticket, it had taken almost five and a half hours, and it still wasn’t over.
“I’ll never complain about the subway again,” I groaned, shifting side to side, hoping to jar the lumbering snorer, and my rear end, awake.
The bus rumbled along in the darkness, eating up the last five miles slowly. The snorer jolted awake when the driver sounded the booming horn as we finally pulled into the tiny bus station in a town called Mount Hazel. I wasn’t back yet, but this was as close as I could swing relying on public transportation this late at night.
I descended the bus stairs, my purse and carry-on bag slung over my shoulder, and looked around. Everything seemed nice enough, at least in the transition between night and the wee morning hours. A small, clean bus shelter sat near the street, free of graffiti. The rental car place behind it looked freshly painted and well-kept. The only noticeable problem was that it was closed. Wasn’t everything open twenty-four hours like it was in New York? As the last passenger disembarked from the bus and got into an awaiting car, I realized I didn’t have many options to get those last couple of miles to Hope Lake.
“Ma’am, are you expecting a ride?” the kindly bus driver asked, scratching his well-past-five-o’clock shadow with his meaty hand. “I can wait a bit so you’re not alone with, uh, everything.”
He peered around me to the semi-pitiful stack of suitcases that I had begged and borrowed from people with the promise of returning them as soon as I could. The ragtag bunch contained most of my worldly possessions. He had removed them from the built-in bus storage and neatly propped them against the side of the small, darkened depot.
It may not have seemed like a lot when my roommate, Parker, and I were packing up the necessities, but now seeing it in two piles with no way of getting it to where I was going, it appeared mountainous.
I smiled. “I did have a rental car, but clearly that’s not happening.” I waved back to the closed Enterprise booth. “I didn’t realize they weren’t open twenty-four hours like they are at home.”
“No, ma’am, not here. Most stuff closes about five or six in the evening.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. Sign said they closed hours ago,” I admitted sheepishly, checking my watch. It was just after four in the morning.
He looked at me disbelievingly. “So no one is coming? Are you from Mount Hazel?”
I shook my head wearily. “I’m headed to Hope Lake.”
Realization dawned on him. “Is there someone I can call for you? I don’t want to leave you here by yourself.”
He yawned, and a nugget of guilt wedged itself in my stomach. This guy didn’t have it any easier than I did with the traffic and delays. He was just as tired, or more. “I’ll figure it out. Thanks, though.”
The driver looked uncertain. I didn’t know if there was some unwritten code that would prevent him from leaving a passenger alone. “If you’re sure,” he said finally, looking around the empty lot. The side with the rental cars was filled. I wondered which would have been mine.
“I’m just going to sit tight until the Enterprise people come,” I said, glancing at the hours on the glass door. “They should open at eight o’clock, so it’s not too bad.”
The only things surrounding me were the sound of crickets, a couple of hooting owls, and a suspicious-looking three-legged cat with a Mohawk that was wandering around the parking lot.
“Maybe you could call someone for a ride?” he suggested, seemingly unconvinced with my willingness to just sit under the streetlight. “Those fancy-app drivers are just starting to come around here.”
“Really, I’m okay,” I insisted, not wanting to add anything else to my nearly maxed-out credit card. The rental car was prepaid without a refund. “I have a book right here …” I paused, pulling out a tattered print copy of The Alchemist that I’d borrowed from the Brooklyn Public Library. A hefty charge would be waiting for me by the time I got to return it. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”
Nodding, he reluctantly walked to the far end of the lot. His black pickup truck sat under a flickering lamppost that was teeming with some sort of large moth.
I tried giving him the most reassuring smile I could when he tooted the horn and pulled onto the quiet, deserted road. I didn’t falter in my decision to sit it out until I heard the damn owl hooting again.
The outdoors and I were not copacetic. It was warm and sticky, and it wasn’t even summer yet. My skin tingled thinking about the insects. I wasn’t a Girl Scout. I needed AC and a glass of wine. Can I make it back to New York before the end of August?
Clearly, I didn’t think this plan through.
I swallowed thickly. Do I even have a plan?
Sort of!
I pulled out my phone and dialed Parker. She’d be up now readying for work.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” she mumbled through a yawn.