I was surprised Erich didn’t knock or rush me. He was patient—more than I expected. Most men I knew would havecomplained about the time it took to get ready. My father and brother always had.
I finally slipped into the dress and sandals and did one last look-over before stepping out of the bathroom. I expected Erich to stop dead in his tracks, speechless at my transformation, but he didn’t seem fazed at all, which knocked my ego down a few pegs.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his attitude all business, with no compliments or comments on my new appearance.
I nodded, hiding my disappointment at not being noticed, but quickly brushing it away. Why would I want him to notice, anyway? There was no romantic fairytale. The reality was I had literally hopped into a car heading nowhere with a man I didn’t know. I had to prove I had what it took to survive on my own.
Erich didn’t change much. He wore a new pair of light-wash jeans, his jacket from earlier over a faded red flannel shirt he must’ve found downstairs. His hair was still naturally set from when he’d been messing with it earlier.
We were out the door, the desk lady winking at me as I set her bag on the counter. I returned a tight smile as thanks, careful not to expose myself and ruin the story Erich had made up to get her help. We left the motel and stepped outside.
It was another beautiful evening. The stars weren’t out yet and the sun was setting, but it was calm and fairly warm. It made me want to walk to wherever we were headed, but I wasn’t sure I could handle that in my suffocating sandals.
“Does my jacket go with this dress?” I asked Erich, a random question as he opened the passenger door for me. If I hadn’t been so focused on the outfit, I might have noticed this was the first gentlemanly thing he’d done for me—aside from the wasted gas station door opportunity.
“No, but no one will notice, anyway. Just hang it up when you get the chance.” He shut the door behind me and walkedaround to the driver’s side, sliding into his seat. We were on our way.
The drive was short, as the bar was realistically within walking distance. When we pulled up and Erich turned the car off, I noticed it wasn’t nearly as loud as the one in Belham. Was that where he had come from the night he found me?
“You go inside first. I’ll wait a few minutes before I go in.” Erich pocketed his keys, scanning the parking lot. No one was around, but I wondered what he was looking for with only a handful of cars there.
He gave me one last reassuring half-smile before I reached for the door and stepped out.
I was met by the familiar, crisp scent of evening air as I made my way up the bar stairs and slowly opened the door. Inside, I was hit with the smell of cigarettes, the twang of loud country music and laughter, and the occasionalclackof pool balls. The air was hazy enough that I suspected my eyes would start watering after a few hours. It was a new environment—and I was out of place.
Still, I told myself I could do it. I found a seat at the bar, struggling a little too much to climb onto the tall red stool and hoping no one noticed. Unfortunately, the bartender had watched the entire thing. His heavy-lidded eyes already seemed impatient. I pushed past the embarrassment as I adjusted myself and smoothed my dress.
Behind him was a wall of bottles—some nearly empty, others full—labeled with names I’d never heard before. The wall itself was a mirror, and I could see my reflection behind the rows of glass.
The bartender raised one eyebrow, a mug in one hand and a rag in the other. He was an older man with a round belly and a patchy beard and mustache. In my head, I assigned him the backstory of a former prisoner turned bartender. Therewas an uncomfortable pause between us as I tried to decide what to order. I had never really drunk alcohol before—just the occasional sip of champagne or wine at church or gatherings. I had missed my first real opportunity during the… “ritual.”
I panicked. The insecurity bubbled up in my stomach, threatening to undo my earlier donut. “Um… brandy, please. With ice?”
The bartender raised both eyebrows—not suspicious, but surprised—and turned to get it.
Did he see through me? What if he realized I was underage? What if my makeup wasn’t right? I didn’t even have cash. The realization sent my thoughts spiraling as I tried to figure out how I would get through this.
He returned with a glass of brandy—mostly ice. That told me everything I needed to know. He assumed I didn’t know what I was ordering and decided to make it easier on me. He set it down and went back to serving the rest of the bar.
I didn’t notice Erich come in. It wasn’t until I heard a drunk man’s loud laughter from the pool table that I turned and saw him—his back to me as he chalked a cue stick and slipped into the crowd. The voices over there were muffled by the music and chatter.
He was quieter than most, and my lip-reading skills were nonexistent. I was curious about what he was doing, but I forced myself to stay focused. I had my own role to play.
I picked up my glass and sniffed it. It didn’t smell bad, so I took a small sip—and immediately felt my throat burn like hellfire. I nearly choked, convinced it would come back up through my nose, but I forced it down. Thankfully, no one was watching. I set the glass back down and let it sit until I could work up the nerve to try again.
There was a baseball game on TV. I wasn’t following it, but it made for good background noise—and a convenient wayto use our code word if needed. I avoided peeking at Erich too often, worried someone might notice and connect us. I couldn’t afford to ruin either of our chances tonight.
With all these thoughts racing through my head, I didn’t notice when a man sat down next to me and ordered a beer.
He cleared his throat, and I nearly fell off the stool in surprise.
“Are you waiting on anyone?” he asked. The bartender popped the cap off his beer and set it down. The man nodded in thanks. “Nice jacket. Who’s the lucky man it belongs to?”
Oh no. I forgot to take it off.
I didn’t know how to improvise. My hand came up to brush loose strands of hair from my face, careful not to disturb my makeup. “It’s mine, actually. And I’m not waiting on anyone.”
I forced myself to meet his eyes.
