I spend the next hour looking at local vacation rentals that are available for the next few weeks. Unfortunately, it seems to be the end of ski season, so the downtown area is packed with outdoor enthusiasts and families in winter attire, and all the rentals are booked. There’s nothing available tonight or tomorrow night, and as charming as this mountain ski town is, I’m regretting choosing it. On the one hand, it’s easy to get lost in the chaos of the crowd. On the other, it takes a lot of money to be here. Anger rises in me again as I imagine the thousands of dollars available in my account that I, so far, am unable to access. I then take some time to search for the nearest branch of my bank, but it seems I’d basically have to go all the way back to El Segundo.
My best chance at avoiding risk and getting access to my funds is to wait this out. I’ll go back to the hotel in a few daysand ask for any mail deliveries for me. And when the card comes, I’ll activate it right there in the lobby and prepay for a room. Or I’ll book the next flight out of there and head to Hawaii or Ibiza or somewhere fabulous and Instagram-worthy.
If anything, this situation is a reminder to diversify. Dean set up all the banking connected to my business. I curse him now for leaving me like this…with him in control of my money, my life, my future. I should have pulled a lot of that cash out of my account as more was deposited from the internet donations. But then, can a person even pay for a hotel with cash anymore? That seems like a red flag in itself. I gnaw on my bottom lip, suddenly obsessed with creating a new persona, conjuring a new tragedy, and collecting more donations. That has to be illegal, though—whereas Mia Starr is my brand and the things that happened to her really did happen to me. There’s no fraud about it; she is me. Her life is mine. I even do an internet search about the process of changing my name. Life would be so much easier if I were Mia Starr in the real world as well as virtual reality. Ifeelmore like her anyway. Shae Halston is weighed down with baggage and trauma and failed relationships—Mia is my new leaf. My chance at a new life. My chance at the life I deserve.
By the time twilight filters through the windows of the Drip Drop, my body aches and I’m no closer to finding a place to stay tonight than I was when I arrived. I finally take a minute to look out over the lake and snow-blanketed mountains that tower over the area. Tahoe is a freezing-cold work of art, probably the most picture-perfect place I’ve ever seen. The tranquil crystal-blue waters of Lake Tahoe lap at the vivid pine and evergreen shores, and if it weren’t for the piles of snow dotting the coast, it’d look every part the perfect summer destination. It’s just as cold as Lake Michigan, but something about Tahoe feels more cozy and inviting…and like a better place to get lost.
With a migraine pressing at the edges of my skull, I call thelocal cab company and request a ride. I thought about calling Rodger, but the bottom line is, forming new connections isn’t in my best interest right now. Or his, for that matter. In a few minutes, a yellow cab approaches the sidewalk outside the coffee shop. My breath catches, knowing what I have to do next. The cab driver parks at the curb and gets out to help me with my luggage. As he loads my suitcase into the back, I turn off my phone and then locate the SIM card slot on the side. I overlooked it before now, but I have to ditch the phone just to make sure I can’t be followed. Using a small hairpin, I eject the thin SIM card and then toss it on the ground and stomp on it with the heel of my boot.
When I’m convinced it’s been obliterated beyond all possibility of GPS locating, I slide into the back seat of the cab. The driver gets in behind the wheel and catches my eye in the rearview. “Where to?”
“The women’s shelter, please.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“And the reason you’re looking for assistance today?” The woman sitting across from me looks tired on a bone-deep level. I decide to push the limits on embellishing my story just to amuse myself.
“My husband is abusive. He kicked me out of the house and turned off all my access to the credit cards. He’s been banging a model half my age, and the night I found out his new girlfriend was pregnant with his baby was the day he gave me a fat lip for the last time.”
“I see.” She doesn’t seem fazed as she takes notes in a case file.
“He nearly beat me to death last month. He did actually kill someone—my unborn baby. I had a miscarriage when he pushed me down the stairs.” I’m looking for a reaction from her now, and I’m not getting it.
“We have a bed for you tonight. Probably tomorrow too. But you need to be looking for a job. We’ll connect again tomorrow and talk more about expectations and access to more support systems if you need it. Bed 31 is all yours.” She hands me a tag to hang on the end of my cot that indicates that the bed is taken.
“W-will you tell my husband that I’m here if he comes to look for me?”
“’Course not.” She seems irritated I’ve asked. “You’re not the first woman to marry an asshole. You won’t be the last.”
I nod. “But he’s a well-connected asshole. If he sends an investigator or anything?—”
“We’re discreet. We cannot confirm or deny that anyone has stayed with us in the past or is currently here. Unless a judge subpoenas the information because there’s been a crime committed, we can’t share your information with anyone.”
Well, that doesn’t put my mind at ease at all. “Thanks.”
“Wireless password is posted on the chalkboard in the main room.”
Wi-Fi. Well, at least there’s that.
When I find the single cot tagged with the number 31, I shove my suitcase under the frame and then pull out my laptop and sit cross-legged on the thin mattress. I type in the wireless password and connect to the internet first, then hop over to my email inbox. Nothing is amiss, and while the donations from my website have slowed down, they’re still coming in at a steady trickle every day.
I also see an appointment reminder for tomorrow from Kelly Fraser, LLP.
I hit reply on the email and explain quickly that I’ve left Chicago and won’t be home for a while. I request to cancel the appointment and then hit send on the email.
I spend a little time looking at local jobs on the internet, but I keep coming back to the fact that my most lucrative skill is being a hype girl for people online. Pivoting the Mia Starr brand into life coaching or something else would have been an option, but it isn’t now that Jesika’s face is all over my feed impersonating me.
I wish then that I would have had the cab driver stop by awireless store so I could buy a new SIM card for my phone. While most hotels and businesses in the area don’t take alternate forms of digital payment, I think an electronics store will. Paying digitally has the added benefit of not allowing anyone to track me in the event that my bank account statements are subpoenaed, just in case Dean’s attack comes back to bite me.
A notification dings a moment later, alerting me to a new email. My therapist has replied and offered to reschedule my appointment to a more convenient time. I type out a quick reply and explain that I’m currently stuck in Tahoe without hotel accommodation until I get a new credit card in the mail.
She replies to that email quickly with a surprising offer.
Tahoe. I spent a lot of winter vacations there in college. Haven’t been in a long time. What do you say we do your next session in person?
My heart drops when I realize she means she can come here—to see me.
I respond to her email,okay,and then leave it at that. Let her come. It doesn’t mean I have to meet with her. I can ghost her when she gets here if I’m not feeling up to it. But the truth is…Kelly Fraser has become a bit of a safe space for me through the chaos. I find that I kind ofwantto see her.
