I need to learn how to help myself.
I need to take care of my daughter. Just me. Nobody else.
I’m a foolish girl with foolish feelings, and I make terrible mistakes when I let hormones swirl inside me unchecked.
Well, that was a terrifying reminder of how quickly my instincts can go sideways because of a physical reaction to a man.
I wanted to stay.That's the thought that made me slam the car into drive. I wanted to take his offer for help with the car, with anything, I was so temptedby it, and the last time I wanted to stay with a man, I lost three years of my life.
I don't get to want things anymore.
“Mommy, I need to pee.”
If Bellamy didn’t say that just as we sail past theWelcome to Dragonfly Creeksign, I’d keep driving.
But she’s little, and I could use a coffee for the next part of our drive. I slow down, looking for something, and sure enough, there’s a diner called The Friendly Table.
It’s just down the street from the garage I won’t be going to.
Guilt churns in my gut as I think about keeping his two hundred dollars.
It’ll go a lot further on coffee than on car repairs, and we’ve made it this far. I think we’re going to be okay.
As I pull into the parking lot, I notice a sheriff’s car right out front. Painfully aware that my car’s registration is out of date, I park on the other side of the empty lot.
“We’re going to be quick inside,” I remind my daughter before I unbuckle her from her car seat. Then I put her baseball hat and sunglasses on. “Don’t take these off.”
They aren’t much as far as disguises go, but anything that makes it difficult for people to describe us—and harder for video cameras to capture our faces—is better than nothing.
As we approach the diner, the cop comes outside. He touches his fingers to his hat as we pass, but doesn’t say anything, and as I hold the door for Bellamy, I hear his car start up.
I listen for the crunch of his wheels on the gravel, and then let out a sigh of relief when I hear him steer onto the street.
I don’t see any security cameras inside, either, which makes me breathe easier. But I still keep my head down as we stop at the counter. “Can I get a black coffee to go, please? And is there a washroom my daughter can use?”
The woman at the counter points to the back. “Right through there.”
“Thanks.” Without looking up, I hurry Bellamy through to the private toilet.
Inside, she takes her time, so I read the posters on the wall. Next month is a town fair, and at the end of the summer there’s an incredibly wholesome-sounding Raspberry Jamboree. A help-wanted ad for a part-time bookkeeper is pinned on top of a crisis helpline poster, that makes me want to crawl out of my skin, so I try to hurry Bellamy along, and that only makes her go slower.
By the time we get back to the counter, a paper takeout cup is waiting for me by the cash register. I pull out one of the twenties that Zane gave me, my heart squeezing at his generosity. I know he wanted me to use that money to get the car looked at, but I can’t afford the time that would take.
“It’s on the house.”
I jerk my head up.
A pretty woman with shoulder-length brown hair and a heart-shaped face with apple cheeks smiles at me. “You don’t need to buy a coffee just so your little girl has a place to pee.”
“I really did want the coffee.”
“Black coffee? Nothing in it? That’s essentially a cup of water. We don’t charge for that, either.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Mercy.”
“Hope,” I hear myself saying. The lack of good sleep over the last four days is catching up to me.
“I’m Bellamy.” My daughter climbs up onto the stool beside me. “Can I have a cookie?”
“We’re not staying.” My heart starts to pound and my palms go sweaty. “Bella, we talked about this.”
