Page 13 of River Wild

Carrie

The real Carrie Ford died five years ago in an automobile accident. She was twenty-five. The age that I am now. We look similar—same pale skin, same blue eyes—but she had gorgeous long red hair, whereas mine is blonde.

But women change their hair color often, so I can pass for her.

I never knew her, Carrie.

She was the granddaughter of the only friend I have. The friend my husband doesn’t know I have.

Neil has never allowed me to have friends.

But I needed someone, and Mrs. Ford is amazing. She lives in the house three doors down.

She’s in her late seventies and the sweetest lady you’ve ever met.

We became friendly when I was out, tending the front garden, and she would stop to chat.

One day, she invited me in for a slice of homemade cake and a cup of coffee, and after that, we were friends.

After a time, she noticed the bruises. She never commented on them. But we both knew that she knew my husband was beating me.

When I found out I was pregnant, I broke down and told her what was happening. How I needed to get out, but I didn’t know how.

She knew I couldn’t call the cops on Neil. And there was no way she could hide me there.

The only way was to disappear.

That was when she left the room and gave me the best gift I’d ever received. She gave me her granddaughter’s identity card and birth certificate. She told me to take it. Change my name and disappear.

I finally had a way out.

She offered me money, too, but I couldn’t take it.

I knew another way to get money anyway.

I hugged her tight. Thanked her.

And that was the start of how I was able to disappear.

I will thank Carrie Ford every day for the gift of her name.

Mrs. Ford and I said our good-byes yesterday. I’m going to miss her so much.

I walk quickly in the direction of the bus depot.

I’m jumping at every passing car and noise I hear, terrified that one of those cars is going to be Neil.

You’re okay. He’s in the city.

But what if one of his buddies is in a patrol car and sees me?

My fast walk becomes a jog.

Calm down. You’re making yourself look more conspicuous.

I slow my jog back down to a fast walk.

Ten minutes later, without being seen, I reach the bus depot.