Category: Millie’s Story

Colton and Sandy waited until 9:00 PM to walk to the detached garage and inspect Mildred’s van. Sandy new from his younger days that she was an early-to-bed, early-to rise woman. Pop had always said Mildred was like a chicken at night, taking to her roost fifteen to thirty minutes before sunset. But, in the mornings, she was up by 4:00 AM, a good two to three hours before sunrise, the normal chicken-rising time. Mildred no longer had chickens but Sandy and Colton doubted she’d changed her habits.

The dark gray, almost black, van was a 2017 Mercedes-Benz Sprinter 2500 4×4. According to paperwork in the console, Mildred had purchased the like-new RV for $79,000 from a man named Angelo Danesi out of Marietta, Georgia. He had bought the Sanctuary model from Thor Motor Coach in Elkhart, Indiana.

To say the van was luxurious was a gross understatement. It had everything two people would need to comfortably travel year round, even off-road. Up front were two ergonomic captain chairs facing a high-tech dashboard. Behind them was the well-designed living quarters, accessible directly from the captain chairs or via the exterior sliding door located behind the passenger seat.

As Sandy walked around the van marveling the sleek design, Colton inspected the well-equipped rolling apartment. At dinner, while considering whether the van might provide a better option than Pop’s house, he’d inventoried what a mobile set-up should include. The van more than met his expectations: inside the living quarters was a two-burner stove and sink (outside, he’d noticed an attached grill toward the right rear side), a refrigerator, a microwave oven, a surprisingly large shower/commode bathroom combination, two couches that made into beds, and plenty of storage.

Sandy joined Colton in the other captain’s chair. “Sorry, but I’m still confused. Won’t getting rid of Mildred and stealing her van just put us more in the cross-hairs than getting rid of her and using Pop’s as our command center?”

It wasn’t a bad way to frame the central issue but Colton had a twist. “Here’s a third option. Before we get rid of Mildred we use her to eliminate us from the cross-hairs you mention, the one you think is based on her missing van.”

Sandy reached to the steering column and turned the key but stopped short of starting the engine. He then fiddled with the large computerized touch screen in the center of the dash. “Explain. What do you mean, ‘use her’?”

“We make her do the normal things she would otherwise do if she were about to take a trip. Things like withdraw money, pack her bags, maybe call a neighbor to collect her mail and watch the house.” Colton lowered his left hand and felt the seat controls. He activated each one, sequentially. “Unbelievable. My seat will do everything but make coffee.”

“That’s like a horse and wagon compared to this thing.” Sandy said, scrolling through FaceBook. “Mildred must have a data-plan.”

“Maybe it’s connected to WiFi.” Colton added. “Question. Does Mildred have children?” It was something he hadn’t considered until now.

“One, a son, Mason, but they’ve been estranged since I was a kid.”

“Why? What happened?” Colton knew that if the two reconciled, a problem for him and Sandy was certain to arise.

“Not sure. I’d guess it had to do with Mason’s father. I only met him a time or two but Pop said the man was crazy. Anyway, the son left after high school and probably never returned.”

Colton used his fingers to calculate Mason’s age. “Mildred is eighty-five. Son would be sixty-five. Seventy?”

“Sounds about right. I’d say he could care less what’s going on with his mother, but Alice is another matter.” Whether he knew it or not, Sandy was offering valuable assistance.

“Who’s Alice?” Colton hoped Mildred didn’t have a close friend.

“Best friend and neighbor. Lives right over there.” Sandy pointed diagonally to his left into the dark, and looked at Colton. “Don’t you dare say, she has to go.”
“No stupid, but Mildred will have to call her. And, convince her she’s taking a trip.”

“I can’t wait to see that. Plus watch her withdraw money from her bank.” Sandy turned up the volume on a YouTube he’d found tauting the benefits of an air-fryer.

Colton looked at the computer screen, saw it was 9:45, and wondered where Millie was and what her and Molly were doing. Damn, why hadn’t he installed the new GPS car tracker Thursday night. “Let’s get some rest. Tomorrow we need to nail down all the details to enable us to pull this off Monday morning.”

Sandy could be hopeless in his predictions. “So, we’re going to kidnap Mildred and take her along to God know’s where?”

Colton pushed a button on the dash to his left marked, ‘Reset seat.’ “You’re right about the kidnapping part, but her ride will only be as long as needed to find a secluded spot to dump her body.” He turned off the key and exited the van fully aware Sandy wasn’t convinced what they were about to do would help keep them out of prison.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Is all Sandy could say as they closed the garage door and trod back to Pop’s house.

Millie had a splitting headache when the bus pulled into the George Washington Bridge Bus Station. Finally, they were in New York City. After twenty-eight hours from the moment Uber had dropped them off in Toledo, they’d reached their destination, weary, disheveled, and in desperate need of a hot shower.

Molly stuffed a novel and her journal in her book-bag, and stared at her phone. “Note the time,” she said handing her mother a glove she had dropped on the floor.

“Pretty amazing, huh?” Millie replied, popping three Tylenol in her mouth. It was 7:35. The exact NYC arrival time Greyhound had promised when Millie had purchased their tickets in Toledo.

Mother and daughter stood and started making their way down the aisle toward the EXIT. “Mom, remind me, when it’s safe, to post a review for Greyhound. Molly slung her book bag over her shoulder. “I think it’s a quasi-miracle, especially given the snow storm we went through.”

Millie smiled and nodded, wondering if that day would ever come.
During the last hour waiting in Newark and the thirty-minute drive to NYC, Millie had made a number of calls. The first was to Youngblood Properties, her and Molly’s new landlord. Just thinking of the 576 square foot studio apartment made Millie claustrophobic, not to mention the near-total lack of privacy. The bedroom, living room, and kitchen were inside the same four walls, thus her and Molly would be living, eating, and sleeping in one open room. The six by six foot bathroom was the sole exception. However, one bright spot was the apartment should be quiet since it didn’t face heavily-trafficked 79th street. Plus, it had floor to ceiling windows along the outer wall which should provide more-than-ample daytime light.

The Youngblood rep delivered good news and bad. The painting had been completed and Ikea had delivered their order: a set of twin beds (including sheets, pillows, pillow cases, thermal blankets, and comforters), two bedside tables, a high-back naugahyde couch and two matching arm chairs, two glass-top desks with accompanying three-caster cushioned chairs, a small pine-constructed dining room table with two matching chairs, and a starter set of pots, pans, glasses, dishes, Tupperware, and cutlery. Thankfully, the kitchen was furnished with a refrigerator, a two-burner stove, a microwave, a dishwasher, and a Keurig coffee-maker. The bad news was the central heating system wasn’t working. It would be Monday before the service company could respond but the rep assured Millie the apartment was well-insulated and should maintain at least fifty degrees unless the outside temperature dipped below zero. The bottom line was Millie and Molly had a place, a safe place, far away from Colton.

Millie had also called Catherine for an status report, hoping Colton had not contacted her again. He hadn’t. The call ended with Catherine gently reminding Millie to keep her in the loop with photos, and frequent updates on her new job.
Millie had also called Matt who, uncharacteristically, had been too busy to talk, but, had insisted she call him as soon as they arrived in New York City.
Inside the nicest bus station so far, they made a quick trip to the restroom before locating luggage pickup. While waiting, Millie ordered an UBER and dialed Matt, who, again short, asked if she and Molly were going straight to their apartment. Odd. Matt’s normally respectful, attentive, and interesting. Fifteen minutes later, a talkative, pinkish-haired Greta raced her Cadillac Escalade south on Harlem River Drive determined to deliver Molly and Millie to their new home on East 79th Street before heading to LaGuardia Airport to snag a $130 fare to Peekskill, where ever that was.

Within a minute after exiting the UBER, a boy of maybe 15 on a bicycle approached and asked if they were Millie and Molly Anderson. After showing him a photo ID he handed her a key and a business card with a four-digit code on the back. “That’s changed every month. Have a good life.” The kid said and pedaled away.

“Well, that’s efficient. The Youngblood rep had requested Millie send him a text when their bus arrived in New York City. “Yeah Greyhound, UBER, and Youngblood Properties. Now, all’s good if our home is better than expected.

The apartment building was old but well kept. The security door worked flawlessly after she entered the code in a keypad protected by a metal umbrella. Inside, the foyer smelled of new paint and the carpet was hardly worn. The elevator to the tenth floor was relatively new, having been replaced in 2016 according to the certification plaque beside the floor control panel. “This is so sterile, so unlike our home and street in Chicago.” Molly remembered what it was like before Colton moved in. Her and Millie, in spring and summer would work in the flower beds, they even had a small garden they’d created in raised planters in the small back yard.

“Baby, we knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but, as you’ve just witnessed, good things can happen.” Molly squinted and gave her mother a look wondering who this oft-negative woman is. The elevator stopped, the door opened, and Millie’s phone rang. It was Matt.

“Hey, we’re here.” Millie followed Molly to the right, down a long hall to Apartment 10-D, and handed over the key.

“Your surprise should be there in no more than ten minutes. Be sure to answer the knock. Call me later if you want.” Something was up but Millie couldn’t put her finger on it, but she’d trust Matt with her life.

Apartment 10-D was better than expected. Not only had the landlord perfectly matched the mauve paint sample Millie had mailed, the sandstone low-pile carpet was the perfect compliment. And, even better, it was new.

“Wow, I didn’t know you ordered a TV?” Molly asked setting her book-bag and suitcase beside the dining table.

Millie slowly conducted a 360 degree pirouette. “I didn’t.” She had no doubt Matt was involved.

Molly walked between the arm chairs and couch, selected the twin bed on the left, and plopped down. “Not bad. A lot firmer than mine at home.”

Before Millie could join her, there was a knock at the door. “I’m going to kill Matt. He’s lost his mind.”

“Let me get it.” Molly said, standing and racing across the room. “Practice.” Her and Millie had talked at length about the process she should use when responding to a knock at the door. “Yes, who is it?”

“Delivery” was the complete response from a high-pitched voice that sounded safe enough.

“We didn’t order anything.” Molly said, sliding the dead bolt to the right. She knew they couldn’t be too cautious.

“Miss, I’m delivering groceries from Gristedes Supermarket. They were ordered by a man named Matt Quinn. This is the address he gave.”

“Hold on just a minute.” Molly quickly grabbed her phone from the table and asked. “How do you spell that? The name of the grocery store.” After the man slowly pronounced the nine letters, Google did it’s thing and returned several listings. “That’s a real grocery store.” Molly said looking at her mother.
Millie gave Molly a thumbs up and joined her precocious daughter as she slid back the dead-bolt and opened the door.

Two large boxes were setting on the floor in front of a man about Millie’s height wearing a pair of green pants and a thick pullover gray sweater. From the exposed collar, he was wearing a yellow shirt underneath his sweater. One box was weighted down with can goods which made Millie and Molly wonder how the older gentleman could carry it and the other box at the same time. Although the other box contained lighter items such as chips, bread, cookies, several types of noodles, and large sleeves of napkins and toilet paper, it was still big and bulky. After depositing the two boxes on the kitchen counter, the man announced, “there’s more to come so don’t abandon me.”

The man with a low melodious hum made another trip, delivering two similarly sized boxes. Millie palmed him a ten-dollar bill, thanked him profusely, and closed the door.

Molly unboxed and shelved can goods in the cabinets, while Millie stuffed packages of hamburger, hot dogs, boneless chicken, two large rib-eyes, and at least a dozen frozen dinners inside the refrigerator. The pair worked together on the fourth box concluding Matt must love mayonaise, ketchup, mustard, Dale’s sauce, Ranch dressing, salsa, and dill pickles, since he sent two containers of each. He’d also included a five-pound bag of onions, ten pounds of Russett potatoes, one pound each of whole carrots, and slaw and salad mix.

“Unbelievable,” Molly exclaimed, “pretty nice Christmas present don’t you think?”

All Millie could say was, “we won’t need to buy groceries until Spring.”

It was almost six when Colton was awakened by Sandy’s yelling, “dinner’s served.” By the tone of his voice, this wasn’t the first time he’d broadcast the announcement.

Colton reached to the bedside table and activated his iphone. It was almost 6:00 PM. A sudden wave of nausea roiled his stomach as he recalled reinserting the SIM card and searching for Ray’s Garage. The results had been disappointing. It seemed every state had a dozen or more similarly-named shops, with half the major cities having at least one or two. Plus, there were countless ‘Ray’s Garage,’ ‘Ray’s Automotive,’ ‘Ray’s Auto Repair,’ and ‘Ray’s whatever’ in small towns scattered across the country. What pissed Colton nearly as much, now, was he’d failed to remove the card after his research. “Damn, all we need is the law showing up.”

He sat up along the side of his bed and removed the SIM card from his iPhone, reminded there were more pressing matters to attend to. Although finding Molly and Millie were critical, if Mildred Simmons connected a couple of dots, she likely would report Colton’s and Sandy’s whereabouts to the police. Then, they’d be arrested, and likely never experience another day of freedom. The bottom line, at least to Colton, was that Mildred had to disappear. And, this needed to take place no later than noon Monday, a time when the Chicago Tribune or some other newspaper, TV or radio station, or an online site published their failure to appear.

Colton stood and slipped his feet into his boots and headed to the kitchen, two things pressed his mind. First, was simply an acknowledgment Pop’s place was a good place to hideout. Second, he had to convince Sandy that Mildred had to go.

“I like your hair.” Colton commented as he plopped down at the dining room table. Sandy was managing his long, reddish-blond curls with a black nylon hairnet, one he’d found tucked inside the towel drawer where Pop had kept them.

At first, Sandy didn’t respond but kept pouring tea in two glasses. “House rule from as long as I can remember. Pop hated finding a hair in his food.”

The table clearly revealed one of Sandy’s primary passions. The food was a thing of beauty, like a painting created by a talented artist. At two place-settings, were large, still steaming, rib-eyes on crystal platters. On smaller plates were baked potatoes already prepped with butter, sour-cream, cheddar, and topped with chopped chives, and bacon bits. Nearby were small bowls of corn and black beans; optional for the stuffed potatoes. To Colton, his salad looked like it had been created by a five-star chef. He was no expert but concluded the greens were romaine lettuce, spinach, and kale. Mixed within were sweet peppers, cherry tomatoes, and snap peas. Along the edges were small slices of carrots, cucumbers, and apples. There was a thick dusting of feta and bleu cheese across the entire salad. The dressings were in eight-ounce clear glass dispenser bottles, each labeled in Sandy’s scrawl. One read balsamic vinegar, the other balsamic vinaigrette. Colton didn’t know the difference, and didn’t care, having always chosen Ranch or Thousand Island.

“Got any other salad dressing? What about steak sauce?” Colton asked, taking a sip of sweetened tea.

“Might have known you wouldn’t be satisfied.” Sandy walked to the refrigerator and returned with bottles of Ranch, Bleu Cheese, Heinz 57, and Worcestershire. “Good thing Pop’s not here, he’d make you eat on the porch.”

“I bet he was one of those ‘good steak doesn’t need any sauce’ types.” Colton added, happy he’d never met Pop.

“You got it.” Sandy took his love for cooking from his mother. The two had spent most of their spare time in the kitchen, and had talked of starting their own restaurant. Money had been the biggest roadblock, but now that Pop had died and left his grandson a respectable nest egg, Sandy was imagining a life free from prison, and enslaved to a commercial kitchen.

Both men began eating as though they were starving. Colton’s habit was to eat one thing at a time, starting with his steak, then intermittently devour potato and salad until he was stuffed. “Where’s the bread?” He was a sopper, as in after eating a plate of food, he’d sop up what’s left with a piece of bread.

Sandy used his steak knife and cut his potato crosswise in half. “Another house rule. Bread and potatoes are carbohydrates, Pop wouldn’t allow both at the same meal.”

Colton forked another slice of steak, stood, and walked to the kitchen. He’d seen a vintage bread box while bringing in the groceries. Inside, he found a loaf of Wonder Bread. Just as he was unwinding the tie, there was a knock at the back door.

“Come in.” Sandy stood and half-ran to greet Mildred. He looked at Colton, shaking his head sideways, and pulling pinched fingers across his lips as though zipping his mouth closed.

“Hey gents, I brought you a loaf of my sour-dough bread.”

“Here’s your salad.” Sandy said removing from the refrigerator a platter piled high.

Colton returned to the table with three slices of white bread and continued eating his steak. Mildred and Sandy exchanged comments about the easing storm before she left.

Before Sandy could complete two steps toward Colton exploded. “What the flying fuck?”

After Sandy explained why he called Mildred and offered a salad—as a thank-you for the coconut cake—Colton slammed his fist on the table nearly knocking over his tea. “You need to wake the fuck up. How many times do we need to plow this same ground. Your friendly-as-cancer-neighbor is going to be our downfall if we don’t act and act matter-of-fact.”

“Hold your damn horses. I’ve already acted. I talked to her about our predicament.” Sandy continued eating, fully trusting the wrinkled-faced woman would do as instructed.

“What exactly did you tell her?” Colton’s mind was racing. He imagined Sandy as the enemy, although they’d been friends over half their lives.

“I assumed she’d read the papers you left in plain sight and told her we were innocent but the DA was determined to convict someone, anyone for those brutal crimes, and send them to prison for the rest of their lives. I told her we needed a place to hide and that’s why we’re hanging out here at Pop’s place.”

Colton couldn’t believe Sandy was so stupid. “Congratulations, you couldn’t have done a better job if you’d called the DA and given him our address. You’ve just guaranteed our failure.”

The men sat silent for several minutes, continuing to eat but with fading appetites. Especially for Colton.

“What do we do?” This was Sandy’s common attempt at regaining credibility with his friend Colton. He’d screw up, often acting without any thought whatsoever, then somehow, realizing his mistake, he’d turn to Colton for answers and direction.

It wasn’t easy but he knew it was necessary. “Mildred has to go.” Colton said in his most definitive and persuasive tone. “It’s her or us.”

Sandy retorted, clearly revealing his conscience was more sensitive than Colton’s. “What if we asked her for help? Now, before you blow up, listen. What if we put her to the test? I’m thinking we tease her.”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re saying.” Colton finished his steak and forked a bite of potato dipping it in a pile of Ranch dressing he’d poured at the edge of his salad.

“Say we feed her an article, after Monday, that states we failed to appear and now warrants have been issued for our arrest. Then, we watch her. To see what she does. I’m thinking and hoping she’d do nothing or come to us, maybe offering to help.”

“What are we going to do, move in with her so we can watch her every minute, or, do you propose, we act as peeping toms and stand outside her window?”

During the next twenty minutes, Colton used his best scare tactics, emphasizing in detail a life-inside-a-prison scenario to persuade Sandy what had to be done. It hadn’t been easy, especially given his intelligent retort, “if Mildred disappears, somebody will eventually notice. Seems to me that guarantees the police will come snooping around. What then?”

That’s when Colton thought of Mildred Simmons’ like-new Sprinter van.

“Mom, can I ask a question, a personal question?” Molly knew her mother would answer, unless it concerned Michael, her biological father.

“Of course.” Millie answered using a knife to cut her burger into fourths.

“Alisha said you might be the reason I don’t have a father. I mean, that we all don’t live together.” Millie didn’t smile, just sat staring a vacuous stare.

“I’ll answer that on August the 8th, that’s a little over seven months. The day you become a teenager, that’s what I’ve always promised.” Millie knew her timing wasn’t all that relevant but just a way to avoid a painful subject. Molly was beyond her years in intelligence and emotional control; she deserved knowing the full story.

Molly rarely got mad or said anything remotely hateful to her mother, but she was rational and persistent. “Was he mean like Colton? Am I the result of a one-night-stand, your lust for sex? How close did I come to being aborted?”

“Okay, okay.” Millie’s recent thoughts about dying and leaving Molly alone in the world prompted her to talk. “Actually, I’ve been searching for the right time to have this talk.” She reached and laid her hand on Molly’s. “We’re partners headed in a whole new direction. You deserve to know how you came to be in this world.”

For the next hour, Molly ate as Millie shared the entire story. Molly’s biological father is Michael Lewis Tanner. Lewis, as the name he preferred, hails from Boaz, a small North Alabama town fifty miles south of Huntsville. He’s the only child of attorney Micaden Tanner and high school teacher Karla Jacobson Tanner. He was raised in the countryside on an eighty-acre cattle farm dubbed, Hickory Hollow. Like Millie, after graduating high school, Lewis become an electrician journeyman. The two met on a job in North Carolina.

Molly silently concluded Alisha had been correct. Millie was the deciding factor. Although it had taken Lewis a while to propose Molly and Millie move to Hickory Hollow, she’d declined, for at least two reasons. She didn’t like the idea of living with his parents; her experience of her and Molly living in Sanford, N.C. with her parents convinced her no house was big enough for two families. Another reason, was Millie had vastly more opportunities as a paralegal in Chicago. Working for Lewis’ father at his law office was as unacceptable as living in the same household.

“Although, like me, Lewis had changed professions—he became a long-haul truck driver—he gave Chicago a solid try during the once-per-month weekends he had off work. You were only two. This went on about a year. Then, I was planning your third birthday and told him I wanted to invite his parents. Long story short, I’d never met them, and, get this, Lewis had never told them about you and me. After that, we simply drifted apart. He started staying on the rode two months at a time. Finally, we mutually agreed our relationship wasn’t in your best interest. The last time I saw him was a few days before Christmas, 2010.” Millie closed her eyes and whispered. “Tomorrow, that will be exactly nine years ago.”

Molly considered the tone of her mother’s words: soft, low, like they were filled with regret. This seemed to contradict Millie’s previous statement, “we simply went our separate ways.”

Molly was confused. To her, breaking up meant the end of a relationship, stopping all communications. She compared it to what was happening with Colton. “If the two of you went your separate ways why did Lewis send you a check every month?”

“Oh dear. This is a subtle reminder of my own failure. My inability to provide you with an ever-present father, one responsible, caring, and unchanging. Baby, all you’ve experienced with Colton’s declination and destruction has deprived you.”

Molly took the last bite of her burger and with mouth full said, “you kind of lost me. Are you saying that Lewis’ continuing support was the best he could do under the circumstances, that it was his only way of acknowledging his screwup?” Millie never ceased to be amazed at how mature and well-spoken her daughter could be.

“Lewis was and is an honorable, caring man. He loved you and still does. We both caused the problem.” Millie caught herself, she didn’t mean it like it sounded. She saw Molly’s mouth open and a wave of hurt roll across her face. “Baby, that didn’t come out right.”

“If I hadn’t been born you might not have let Colton move in. You were trying to, as you say, ‘provide’ me a father. Molly stared at her plate. “I’m sorry I’ve caused you such pain.”

“Molly Leigh Anderson, you are all wrong. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, the most wonderful blessing I will ever, ever have. Your father felt the same way, but life isn’t always fair. He did and continues to do the right thing.”

“You’re talking about the support checks.” Molly was unusual, she was both highly imaginative and pragmatic. “Lewis, given he’s such a good man, will continue sending you a monthly check. This means he knows where to send it, thus, you’ve told him that we’re moving to New York City. Right?”

The logic made sense, but it wasn’t true, at least not yet. “It’s okay to reach conclusions without all the facts, but realize they can be wrong.” Millie had been extra careful about disclosing her and Molly’s plans, limiting who knew to only Matt and Catherine. “Lewis doesn’t know. I’m confident he’ll keep sending the check to the law office.”

“Matt’s office.” Molly clarified, remembering that a few months ago, months after Colton had gone crazy and started his physical and mental abuse, she’d overheard her mother and Colton arguing over Lewis’ check. The monster had come to expect it by the tenth of each month and would verify its receipt by inspecting the household’s bank statement. But, it had stopped coming, or that’s what Millie told Colton. Shortly thereafter, Millie had told Molly she had asked Lewis to start sending it to her work address. Millie didn’t like lying but found it necessary in planning and executing her and Molly’s escape from the evil monster.

Millie pushed back her plate, half her burger and all her fries uneaten. “Baby, I hope and pray someday you will find love, true love, everlasting love. Please learn from my mistakes.” She’d done it again. She rushed to clarify. “My mistake in losing Lewis. There’s nothing more wonderful in life than falling in love, but it doesn’t come without effort. You have to invest every day.” Molly could tell by the ghostly white of her mother’s face that she was awash in regrets, and what-should-have been.

The waiter arrived with their check, and a dessert. “We didn’t order that.” Molly said as Millie wiped away tears.

The waiter smiled. “I heard you mention a birthday when I refilled your water glasses. It’s on the house. And, gluten free.” Molly thanked him.

When he walked away she stared at the slice of chocolate cake surrounded by blueberries and strawberries next to a large dollop of whipped cream. “People can be so nice at times.” Molly remembered the Christmas card she’d seen at her mother’s work desk last Saturday. She’d spent an hour in her office while her mom was in the conference room with Matt and another paralegal. Molly didn’t like to snoop but couldn’t resist looking inside. It was signed “Love always, Lewis.”

Millie pushed the dessert toward Molly. “Eat and enjoy. It looks great.”

Molly wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to continue asking questions. “Do you send Lewis a Christmas card, like he does you?”

“I do?”

“Molly took a bite of cake and asked, “why?” She had learned this was likely the most important question in the universe.

“Two reasons, maybe more. Lewis and I are good friends, and we have a daughter together. You might say our exchange of annual Christmas cards is to acknowledge and celebrate you.”

“Where did you send his card while he was married?” A year or so ago Molly had pestered her mother so much so revealed a few details about her father, including that he had married in 2012, had a son in 2013, and his wife died in an auto accident in 2015.

“To his home address.”

“So, he didn’t try to keep you a secret from his wife?”

“No.”

“Does this not mean his parents would know about me?” To Molly, this seemed only natural. Those who lives in the same household would likely know about each other’s mail, excepting young children of course.

“Different mailboxes. Before Lewis married, he purchased a mobile home and set it up at Hickory Hollow.”

This raised another question in Molly’s mind. “Why wouldn’t he have done that when he asked us to move to Alabama.”

It was like Millie hadn’t thought of this. “Uh, I’m not sure, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. Remember, I had other reasons for not wanting to move to a place more backward than where I’d grown up.”

“What’s his six year old son’s name?”

“Kaden.” The waiter returned and Millie gave him a fifty-dollar bill for their meal, including a tip. “Okay dear, we’ve been here almost two hours. Let’s head back.”

Molly had one final question that she had to ask. “Mom, now please don’t take this wrong. Do you have any other children?”

Millie’s laugh reminded Molly of how she used to be, before the monster Colton came along. She was so hopeful, so alive, so happy. “Oh baby, you are my one and only. There has never been and will never be another child like you.”

“Uh, I’m not a child, and I have another question.” Millie knew there was no end to Molly’s questions.

“Okay, but this is it for now. I have some calls I need to make.”

“Since I now know Lewis’ full name and where he lives, do you think it would be okay for me to contact him? Wouldn’t that be normal?”

Millie stood, slung her bag over her shoulder, and motioned for Molly to follow. “Let me think about that, but right now I don’t want him knowing where we are. The fewer people who know we’re in New York City the better.”

Molly shrugged her shoulders, cocked her head sideways, and raised her hands, palms open, as though saying, ‘that’s not good enough.’ But, she kept quiet all the way back to the bus station.

“Let’s go inside.” Millie head-motioned for Molly to exit the bus first. Following her daughter, a streak of fear rushed upwards and across Millie’s spinal column. ‘It only takes one mistake, even a small one, and we’re sunk.’

The station was a nice old building dating from the 1940’s according to the bronze plaque outside the double-door entrance. Molly had researched Newark’s Penn Station before sending her first text to Alisha. It was a hub for not only Greyhound Bus, but also for Amtrak, and the subway.

Inside, Millie and Molly were amazed at the vastness of the lobby. “This is like entering a time warp.” Millie said, pumping a handful of Purell from a nearby stand.

“I agree. Modern and ancient. The granite floor and multiple stores along the far wall remind me of The Shops at Northbridge back home. But, the tribe of bedraggled and unkempt people wandering around make me think of the beginning of humanity, poor, desperate, fearful.” Molly often described a setting as though she was writing a piece for Ms. Thorton, her all-time favorite teacher.

“I don’t see how they survive.” Millie said directing Molly to a metal bench bolted to the floor to their left. “Much cause to be thankful.”

“I assume you took your Depokote.” Molly could already tell her mother was rebounding, at least a little, from her depressive state. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be referencing her gratitude.

“I did.” Millie removed the brochure she’d been given in Toledo and found the list of stations they’d encounter along their route. She typed Newark Penn Station’s web address into her phone and started reading. “Dunkin, Starbucks, and McDonald’s are all inside.” Millie pointed to the three lined side-by-side along the far wall.

“We have a three and a half hour layover. Let’s walk to the Doubletree Hilton on Raymond Blvd. That’s only two blocks and they have a highly rated bistro we could enjoy something other than fast-food. Then, we could rest in the comfortable chairs inside their lobby.”

“Well, I guess you’ve been doing more than texting Alisha.” Millie stared at Molly who looked down and clutched her book bag. Expecting a long-winded lecture, she was surprised by her mom’s hug. “No need to worry now, it’s done.”

“I’m sorry.” Molly said and stood as a toothless woman in a ragged coat, disheveled hair, and holey gloves approached holding a small tin bucket with the words, “help me please” scrawled in magic marker along the side.

It took less than five minutes to walk to the Doubletree Hotel and find Bistro Six Five Zero located just off the lobby. The tall, thin, clean-shaven waiter with gold Christian-cross earrings led them to the requested corner booth but Millie, upon inspection and noticing the torn seating with exposed foam padding, insisted on a table.

The menu was fairly broad, including anything from chicken wings to grilled salmon to Ribeye steak as well as burgers, sandwiches, salads and deserts. Given the pricing, both ordered the cheapest entre, the Bistro Burger with fries for $18. Soft drinks were extra, $3.49, so they declined opting for water instead.

After the waiter left, Molly shared her regret. “We should have eaten at McDonald’s. With that homeless woman as our guest.” Millie smiled and nodded affirmatively.

“How much did you give her?” Unlike Molly, Millie had resisted the uninhibited woman. She was glad her daughter was tenderhearted and cared about those less fortunate, but wanted her to learn she couldn’t help every needy person who came across her path.

“Five dollars. And now, you’re spending twenty-plus dollars on me. That could have fed that dear old woman and me, plus enough left over to give her $5.00.” Millie listened as Molly continued to talk for five or six minutes about a world with abundant food but yet widespread starvation. She shared an article her social studies teacher had shared quoting United Nations statistics: every year, more than 3 million children die from hunger-related causes.

The waiter delivered their food. “I hear you baby. There is unimaginable suffering in the world and we all need to do our part to help where and when we can.” They ate slow and in silence with Millie making a mental note to call their new landlord, Youngblood Properties, to make sure everything was ready for their arrival. Last Tuesday, the painters were scheduled to begin Thursday and finish on Friday.

While Colton sat in the RAM, he was tempted to go online and search for Ray’s Garage. But, he resisted the temptation, not wanting to give away their location. Before leaving Mitchell’s Tap, he’d insisted they remove the sim cards from their phones, hoping that would prevent any tracing.

The right rear of the extended cab opened. “Damn, it’s freezing. Give me a hand.” Colton turned and saw Sandy with an overflowing buggy. He paused, thinking ‘he bought them, he can unload them.’ That’s when he saw the bright blue Phone Mart sign hanging above the corner store of the adjacent shopping strip.

After the two-dozen plastic bags were layered across the back seat and floor board, Colton realized this might be as good a time as any to purchase burner phones. They didn’t have anything else to do but wait out the storm, and he really wanted to get online.

The sales clerk was reading a magazine and listening to a weatherman from a small TV behind the counter. “Come in. Welcome to Phone Mart. How can I help you?”

There were no other customers inside the story. The the dapper little man turned down the TV volume and rushed to meet them. Colton thought he looked more like a reporter or assistant district attorney than a cell phone expert.

“I need two untraceable phones. Pending divorce. Bitch keeps calling and texting.” Sandy had an imagination, and often acted spontaneously.

“I’m his brother,” Colton added, resigning to the developing context.

Timothy, per his name tag, handed each of them a business card. “You’ve come to the right place, but I have good news and not-so-good news. Sandy glanced at Colton, then back at the clerk.

“Okay, tell it like it is.” Colton didn’t have any patience for a story or a sales pitch.

“We are the only dealer in Elk Grove that carries the Librem 5, made by Purism.” Neither ‘brother’ had heard of it. “It’s the absolute best option if you don’t want to be tracked.”

“Why’s that?” Sandy asked.

“It’s operating system is Linux based, which obviously means its not based on Android or iOS.”

“What’s the bad news? And, the cost.” Colton didn’t want a flip phone, preferring something closer to the look and feel of his iPhone 11.

“I don’t currently have two in stock, but I should have within an hour or so.” The little man said, stroking his upper lip with his right index finger.

“What’s your second best option?” Sandy asked.

“The Nokia 3310, a flip phone. I know that’s not for everyone.” Colton nodded in agreement and glanced at the clock on the wall above the TV. It was almost 3:30.

“I assume the Librem 5 isn’t a flip-phone?” Timothy walked to the counter and returned with a brochure. “Here’s what it looks like. Similar design as the Pixel 4 XL or the iPhone 10, with a slightly smaller screen size.” Colton liked it.
Sandy looked at Colton and nodded, handing over the brochure.

“You’re sure you’ll have two of these in an hour?” Colton thought of a couple of errands he and Sandy could run, but didn’t want one hour to turn into two or three.

The store’s phone rang and the clerk returned to his stool behind the counter. Colton and Sandy had seen the price on the brochure, $2000.00. “Shit, that’s a ton of money.” Sandy said, proud he’d given his mother’s land-line number to Chicago police when he was arrested. Surely, his attorney wasn’t a threat to disclose anything related to his case.

“That was the delivery guy. Said he was on his way but would definitely be delayed given the snow storm.”

After discussing price and the recommended phone service, Colton handed over $500 cash to hold the phones, promising to return with the balance in a few days, subject to the storm. He knew he had to make a round trip to Chicago to close his current bank account.

The return drive to Pop’s took forty-five minutes given the blizzard and a three-car pileup at the Nerge and Rohlwing intersection.

“Shit. What’s that bitch doing here?” Sandy slammed an open palm against the dashboard as Colton slowly steered the RAM into driveway. “I’m beginning to think we should find a better place to camp out.”

Mildred Simmons’ Impala blocked the carport’s open bay. Colton parked on the far side of her car and saw the wrinkle-faced woman coming outside through the house’s rear door with a kitchen towel hung over one arm. “She’s been inside. What the fuck?” Colton’s uneasiness over the next door neighbor doubled, quickly transforming into anger and a near-certainty the nosy woman was trouble with a capital T.

Both men exited the RAM and approached Mildred who’d opened the Impala’s drivers side door. “Bad weather to be outside but I thought you boys would enjoy a coconut cake.” Colton was too hot to respond and walked inside. From the dash-banging, he believed Sandy could deal with the situation.

“Rusty, you’ll catch pneumonia out in this weather.” Sandy couldn’t bring himself to scolding the old lady, the one who’d been so good to Pop.

“Don’t you worry. I’ve had my flu shot and it’s just a hop over here. You always loved my cakes.”

It then dawned on Sandy that Pop had not only given Mildred a key to the detached garage, but to his house also. In fact, they’d exchanged keys, mainly to check on things when one of them was out-of-town. Mildred touched Sandy’s cheek, crawled into the Impala and drove off.

Colton was standing by the gas heater in the den when Sandy entered and motioned for help unloading the groceries. “Hold on, come here.”

The closer Sandy got to Colton the more he could see his friend was about to explode. “Calm down, she just brought us a cake, just wants to help. No harm, but I promise I’ll get her key back.”

“Follow me you idiot. It’s far worse than you know.” Sandy followed Colton to the dining room table to his opened brief case. “Look. Read.”

Sandy looked at the top document. It was a copy of the murder indictment. Underneath was several pages including an Incident & Offense Report detailing the arson and the discovery of Ellen Heppner’s charred body. Another page was victim Gina Patton’s excruciating statement given to the DA’s detective. “Shit, you don’t think Mildred saw these, do you?”

Colton closed his eyes and raised his head toward the ceiling. “I guarantee you the bitch read every word. It wouldn’t surprise me if she snapped photos. We know she has a cell phone, from this morning.”

“God damn. I bet she saw all your guns scattered across your bed.” Sandy could think, a little, once prompted. “What do we do?”

“We’re probably okay for the moment, but if she hears or reads something about us she might put two and two together.” Colton returned to the heater.
Sandy joined Colton and remembered the Chicago Tribune journalist, Andrew Spivey, who’d called both of them asking for a statement before his article was published. “You think that reporter will print something after Monday’s hearing?”

“Could be, he’s nosy and has a keen interest in our case. I told you my attorney said Spivey called him after learning about the DA’s latest motion.”

Colton walked outside, backed the RAM into the carport, and started unloading the groceries. Sandy joined him and kept asking what they needed to do, recalling Colton’s statement during the drive over that he wished they could get rid of Gina Patton.

Molly returned to the window seat across the aisle from Millie. She knew her mother would want to sleep during the two hour ride to Newark. By now, Molly was keen to Millie’s symptoms. They’d been evident as they walked across the parking lot to the bus: shoulders sagging, head lowered, eyes dull, listless, and staring straight-ahead but drooping downward.

For the next thirty minutes, Molly tried to meditate, like Tracey had described. Looking out the window, just taking in the world, letting things be as they are, not trying to force anything, not striving, not clinging. Molly kept her eyes open, and after a quick absorption of the thickening snow, followed the Delaware River as it wound northeasterly, staying an almost-equal distance from the route the bus was taking. This changed in Eddington when the river receded and diverged from the route onward to Newark, eventually disappearing from Molly’s view entirely.

Her attention turned to Alisha and how their lives had been like the river. Before it diverged. For six and a half years, since the first week of Kindergarten at Harvard Elementary School, they’d remained close, always an equal distance from each other. At first, they’d been satisfied with dolls, Harry Potter books, and Breyer’s Chocolate ice-cream. Then, came Taylor Swift and her music. This, along with Ms. Thorton and her zealousness for writing, had ignited their imagination, opening their world to figuratively traveling the world and experiencing a panoply of unending adventures, including bull-fighters, mountain climbers, inn-keepers, and artists of all stripes.

Breathing deeply, Molly followed the rise and fall of her breath deep into her stomach. As much as she tried to resist the sad thought of losing her best friend, there she was. The image was as real as the Delaware River, now unseen, yet still flowing. Alisha was sitting inside her room at that silly pink desk, Taylor Swifts “Daylight” playing softly in the background. Alisha finished reading a poem, maybe “Dirge Without Music” by Edna St. Vincent Millay. Now, the outwardly unattractive but inwardly beautiful sixth grader was striving to create her own poem. Molly was certain her best friend was drafting a dirge, one matching Millay’s in thrust and meaning, but using different words, rhythms, and symmetry.

Molly lost the battle. She couldn’t resist. After staring a long minute at her sleeping mother, she reached into her bag for the iPhone Alistair had given her, whispering, “I have to talk to Alisha.” Molly looked again at her mother. She was in her soft-puffing mode which meant she was in a deep sleep.

Molly hoped Alisha was home and not out somewhere with her parents as she often was on Saturday afternoons. “Me here, you here too.” For the past year this had become a common way for Molly and Alisha to begin their text communications. They were more than best friends. No matter the physical distance between them, they were one person with two minds and a single heart.

Alisha replied almost instantly. “Me here, you here too.” There was a slight pause before she sent a follow-up text. “Always.”

“Update. We’re still on this damn bus. Next stop, Newark, NJ.”

“Update. Trying to write a combination romance and nature scene, set at a beautiful waterfall. The lovers—male/female, male/male, or female/female I’m not sure, but it doesn’t matter since they are in love—stay there for forty years until they die, but the time seems like one hour.”

Molly responded with a memorized quote from Millay’s “Dirge Without Music.” “They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve. More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.”

“Wow. I wish you were here. I miss you so much.”

“Me too.” Molly thought of Alisha’s room. The giant poster bed, the entertainment center her father had built, the matching bean-bag chairs, the orange sun poster pinned across the window, and the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves surrounding her pink desk. Alisha collected many times more fantasy books than Molly collected stuffed animals.

After sending a ‘question’ emoji, Alisha typed, “I know you carried your stuffed animals, but which one is in your book bag? Right now.”

“Mom packed them in garbage bags and thought it best not to try and transport them by bus. The garage folks where we left our Sentra are going to ship them to New York. Hope they don’t get lost.”

“Bummer. Too trusting. Why not mail them yourself?” Alisha was always thinking.

“I suggested the same but mom wanted to go to the bus station early. Plus, she thought Ray & his wife, the garage owners, were good people. Really, I think Mom believed them because of their twin girls.”

“Uh?”

“I know, I know. Doesn’t compute but you know mom. But, anyway, Ray was nice and made me wish he was my father.”

Alisha closed her notebook, walked to her bed, reclined, and continued typing. “You’ve said the same about my wonderful dad. So, which one is it?”

Molly sent the face without a mouth emoji, and typed. “I repeat for the millionth time, be thankful you have such a caring, compassionate, respectful, and engaging father. But no, not me. All I have, other than hatred for the Monster, is sadness, loneliness, disappointment, and emptiness.”

Alisha believed it her life mission to placate and comfort Molly, hoping her humble but beautiful friend wouldn’t forget her when she became a model or movie star. “Then keep trying to find your REAL father. Like I’ve said, the reason he’s not around might be your mom’s fault.”

Although she couldn’t agree, Molly had a feeling her biological father cared for her mother. Michael was his name but that’s all she’d been told. And, that he was from somewhere in Alabama. “Mom said she’d tell me the whole story when I turn 13. That’s seven months, a lifetime. BTW, I can’t imagine it’s mom’s fault.”

“Like Mom and Dad say, ‘it takes two to tango.’ Question. If your father’s so great, why doesn’t he contact you? Maybe, at least, send you a Christmas card like he does your mother?”

“Mom says it’s probably guilt. Like I’ve told you, he got married in 2012, had a son in 2013, and then his wife died in an auto accident in 2015.”

These type conversations were common and frequent. Real friends don’t hold back from disagreement. “No computa.” Alisha was trying to learn a little Spanish. “Maybe it’s because you’re mom has demanded he stay away, that she thinks he’s no good for you, even if he does have a son and no longer has a wife.”

“Mom says Michael’s parents are raising his son. So, if he won’t take care of his son, why should he take care of his daughter?” All this was old hat for Molly. She’d been asking these questions since she started Kindergarten.

“If I had a half-brother you can rest assured I’d be looking for him.” Molly thought this was funny since Alisha and Alistar rarely communicated.

The bus driver’s gruff voice interrupted the passengers soft chatter. He announced they’d arrive in Newark in ten minutes. Molly removed her toboggan and laid it across her iPhone before looking toward her mother. With eyes wide open, Millie inclined her seat while staring straight at Molly.

“What are you doing?” Molly had no doubt her mother had discovered the secret iPhone.

Colton finally relented. Since he’d gotten off the phone with Catherine and relayed the details, Sandy had badgered him about going to the grocery store. It was evident the soon-to-be-landowner was short-sighted. The last thing the pair needed was an accident accompanied by a police report. The least attention they could bring to themselves, the better.

The three-mile drive to the Elk Grove Walmart Supercenter should have taken six or seven minutes at most. This assumed a normal day with normal weather. Today was anything but. The blinding and rapidly accumulating snow, along with the slow-crawl of other drivers, entailed half-an-hour.

Inside, Sandy grabbed a buggy. “We need to plan for at least a week.” Colton trailed along as Sandy headed to the produce section.

“Too long. Think man. We got to stay flexible.” Colton was worried about Mildred Simmons.

“I am thinking, thinking of ways to be prepared if this snow continues. We don’t want to get trapped.” Sandy’s fear was irrational but real to him. His life as a construction worker meant he was one paycheck from starving. Sandy selected two heads of cabbage, a bag of carrots, two onions, and a bag of apples. “Remember, you said cooking was my responsibility.”

“Dinner on the table at 5:30, but that assumes we’re at Pop’s.” Colton liked that Sandy was easily manipulated but also feared his unpredictability.

In the meat department Sandy asked, “what happens if the judge orders us arrested?”

Colton had already explained this twice. “Again, it’s not a matter of if. We know this will happen on Monday. The judge will revoke our bonds and order us arrested. This is why I didn’t want to come here. We get in an accident, a simple fender-bender. The responding officer will enter our names into the database and see the outstanding warrants. Shazam, it’s over. The officer will cuff us and haul our asses in without question.”

“That means you need to drive carefully.” Sandy said as an elderly couple edged their cart beside Colton. He bit his lip to suppress his thoughts about his dumbass partner. As he considered the price of hamburger, he noticed Sandy, twenty-feet away inspecting ribeye, filet mignon, and T-bone steaks. As he approached, he decided to run a test, just to see what all Sandy would buy. If the result was the absence of self-control, Colton would know his drinking buddy was more trouble than he was worth.

“Just for tonight.” Sandy said like a kid asking mama for permission to stay up late to play with his new Christmas toys.

Colton nodded. “I’ll have the filet mignon.”

Sandy removed a pack of two, twelve ounce filets from the shelf and lay them in the buggy. Colton’s iphone emitted the ringing of a hand bell as he sauntered behind Sandy, now heading toward the cheese cooler.

The sound was a notification from the Spytec App he’d downloaded six months ago to monitor the tiny camera he’d installed in Maverick, Molly’s black llama. Out of fifty or more stuffed animals, Maverick was her favorite. And, the best one to hide the amazingly small camera. The stuffed llama stood erect on all fours, eighteen inches from the tip of its banana-shaped ears to the soles of its feet. Colton had made a quarter inch slit midway down its neck, inserted the camera, and secured the tiny plastic loops, one on each end, with a thin black thread to make sure it stayed put. A little creative brushing of the llama’s coarse neck-hair camouflaged the camera and left and left a clear path to what lay ahead.

The idea had originated at Matt’s house. It was this year’s annual July the 4th pool party for his employees and their families. The kids were allowed to invite a guest. Molly had invited Alisha. Colton still remembered the vast difference in the girls’ bikini-clad bodies. Alisha was plump with lots of flab, shaped more like an oblong bowling ball with rolls of fat. Molly was like an hourglass, one not fully developed but clearly exhibiting the signs of rapidly approaching womanhood: flat stomach, curvy ass, and long, contoured legs. Her body was more perfect than any of the fifteen and sixteen year olds present. No doubt, Molly was exceptional. Colton had worked hard not to get caught staring. The next week he’d ordered the camera and APP, and the fun had begun. Recently, he’d fought a strong urge to ravish the shapely pre-teen with emerging pubic hair, budding breasts, and puckered nipples who every morning and every night got naked in front of the lifeless Maverick. But, thankfully, Colton’s legal quandary had kept him contained, except for his eyes.

The setup had worked flawlessly until Friday morning when the camera stopped working. Out of habit, Colton always checked the APP on his way to work, although on Friday, Molly was at Alisha’s. Actually, the camera had kept working but produced only darkness. At first, he thought Millie had moved Maverick and four dozen other plush toys, maybe to dust the shelf, but that idea was doubtful; Millie hated cleaning, especially so early in the day. Another thought was she’d decided Molly was getting too old for stuffed animals. But, this too was silly, and rather remote since Millie herself had a couple from her own childhood.

Despite near-hourly checking, nothing had changed. Until now. There was a blond, curly-headed younger girl staring at Maverick. Actually, she was a child, five or six at the most, standing, alert and eager, in between the stuffed animal and a desk. Behind it, attached to a wall, was a white board with an assortment of words written with black, green, and red markers in equal size columns. The only words Colton could make out were Ray’s Service Center & Towing printed in larger letters across the top of the board.

He eased forward replaying the clip, oblivious to his surroundings. “Watch where you’re going.” A man shouted, nearly falling into an Oscar Myer sampling booth.

“Sorry. You okay?” The man regained his balance and stared, but didn’t respond.

Colton found Sandy in Beer & Spirits and handed him two, one-hundred dollar bills. “Buy what you want, I’ll be in the truck.” He left his partner, smiling and loading three six-packs of Bud Lite.

Millie watched Tracey as she walked across the parking lot toward the bus station. Lacy flakes were drifting out of the sky and slowly covering pavement, walkways, and the tops of cars a thin layer of white. Sunlight was sparkling in a glittering display.

The bus started to move and was soon winding its way around a small city park. Snow was threading through the trees and frosting branches and bushes. There were only a few tufts of dead grass poking their way up through the white oasis. Footprints were making paths in the fresh snow as people walked their dogs. Millie imagined small, meandering tracks by mice, chipmunks, and birds barely visible on the snow’s crust. And, further out of town, in the country side, deer, rabbit, and coyote prints were making trails in the woods. “If this continues, cold winds will force the snow into drifts. I hope we can stay on schedule.” She said to Molly who was staring outside her window at the developing beauty.
The snow brought back happy memories of childhood: sledding, making snowmen, playing outdoors, etc. Millie hoped this gift from nature had the power to pull her out of her dark thoughts long enough to notice and appreciate its beauty.

Millie stared at Molly who was still seated across the aisle next to the window with Tracey’s empty seat beaconing. The twelve-year-old was also staring, but not at her mother. She was staring toward a Costco as the bus crossed the 276 bypass. Was she thinking about their recent trip to the warehouse club, and what Christmas would be like this year?

The Costco Christmas shopping trip had started three-years-ago, December 2016, a week after Millie invited Colton to move in with her and eight-year-old Molly. What a mistake. But, like many things in life, it had started out good, even exhilarating. Memories of that first trip appeared: Colton, the carefree, respectful, loving lumberjack of a man insisted he pay for whatever Molly chose. The precocious child had long ago concluded Santa was a myth, so secrecy and surprise wasn’t a part of the game.

December 2017 was another fun-filled Saturday, the last of a three person, short-lived tradition. In early 2018, the verbal assaults began. That year ended with the first physical assault, and Millie and Molly, alone, Christmas shopping at Costco. This year, 2019, had been the same.

Molly reclined her seat and inserted her ear plugs, listening to music. Millie kept staring toward her daughter and through the window at the deepening snow. She hoped she’d made the right decision. A week ago after her and Molly’s Costco shopping trip she arranged for the giant retailer to gift-wrap and mail the items to Bird & Foley in New York City. Millie had bantered her options back and forth—torn between transporting them via car, or shipping them via FedEx or UPS—finally letting Molly flip a coin.

Now, she was convinced chance had chosen correctly. Storing them for a week at home would have been too much of a temptation for Colton. He’d ask too many questions and, if suddenly outraged, might destroy the items. And now, there was an equally persuasive reason that chance had done Millie and Molly a favor. Although there weren’t that many packages—two were rather small: the ones containing the Apple AirPods and the Wacom Digital Drawing Tablet–transporting them by Greyhound bus would have been problematic, especially given the Sofa Chair Molly had selected. It was pink, with no legs, had a high back, and didn’t fold. To say the least, even if Greyhound allowed, it would be rather bulky. Millie imagined that chance somehow knew the Sentra would die somewhere along their 900 mile journey.

Millie reclined her chair and smiled, determined she wouldn’t let anything, her mental health or the dark side of chance, interfere with this year’s Christmas holidays. Since Molly was born, Millie had never had two weeks off work during the Christmas season to spend with Molly. Yes, this year was shaping up to be the best they’d ever had.

Millie closed her eyes and imagined how it would be. Tomorrow, they’d do nothing but rest and buy groceries. On Monday, the two of them would hire an Uber and travel to Bird and Foley and retrieve the packages. While there, hopefully her boss, Stephen Canna, would give them a quick office tour and introduce them to other staff members. After returning to their apartment, they’d spend the rest of the day—and probably Tuesday—shopping and decorating their new apartment. Wednesday, Christmas Day, would be spent opening presents and trying out a few new recipes, Starting Thursday and for the next twelve days until January the 6th, they’d explore Manhattan, eat at fancy and not-so-fancy restaurants, and spend quality time together, forgetting the past and planning a wonderful future, wholly devoid of Colton Lee Atwood.

Molly inclined her seat and edged across the aisle. Her mom was in a deep sleep. “Mom, wake up, we’re in Philadelphia.” Molly nudged her shoulder, moving aside to let other passengers disembark. “Mom, we only have forty-minutes.” Slowly, Millie’s eyes opened. After a sixteen-hour day [RF, CHECK THIS], her eyelids felt like broken window blinds, rising and falling unevenly. She grabbed her phone, focusing a little. It was almost one PM. For several seconds Millie looked at Molly and her surroundings, believing she was still dreaming. “Mom, I’m hungry. Come on.”

The bus station was the worst one so far. A concrete landing with a covered awning reminded Millie of an old train station. Just outside the entrance was a giant metal garbage can with crumpled food wrappers, paper coffee cups, ticket stubs, and cigarette butts overflowing onto the ground.

Inside was somewhat better, just garbage of the human kind. Millie scolded herself for such a thought. People of all shapes, sizes, and colors were laying prostrate on black, metal benches scattered along the outer walls. Some had opened newspapers blanketed like bed-covers over their heads.

“There’s a Subway.” Molly pointed, pulling Millie along. The modern day fast food joint seemed out of place. The floors and walls were relics of times gone by, probably to a train station a hundred years ago. Molly made a mental note to record the contrasting elements into her writing notebook, and became sad. Sad that she’d never see Ms. Thornton again. Sad, that she would never again have such a caring, compassion, and competent writing teacher, one who’d take such personal interest in her students.

While the server was preparing Molly’s six-inch turkey on wheat, Millie’s cell phone rang. Since she hadn’t entered any Contacts, the cell screen read, “unknown caller.” She almost didn’t answer but then assured herself it had to be from either Matt or Catherine. They were the only ones she’d given her new number to. “I need to take this. All I want is a bag of plain chips, and maybe a cookie.” She turned, walked to the corner booth, and pressed the red answer button.

“Hello.” Millie said, sliding into the booth.

“Millie, it’s Catherine. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

Work. The past. Gone. What a blessing it would be to have such a supporter at Bird and Foley, Millie thought before replying. “Hey girl. Thanks for checking on us.”

“How’s New York?” Catherine asked, obviously not knowing about the Sentra’s death, or the nearly-as-painful bus slog.

Millie laughed. “We’re in Philadelphia. At a Greyhound bus station. The Nissan died.”

“Oh my gosh. I’ve never ridden a bus. You should try flying.” Catherine liked to poke and joke.

“So, how’s Houston?” Millie asked, thinking of how silly her ploy had been to misdirect Colton.

“Okay. A good place to visit, but I’d hate living here. Four too-many nosy parents. Catherine and husband Brett had grown up in Houston, and both sets of parents were still living.

Molly arrived and sat across from Millie. She secured her phone between her should and ear, and opened the bag of Lay’s. Molly opened her sandwich and moved half of it to a napkin and slid it across to her mother. “Eat.” Millie shook her head in the negative and pushed it back.

“I hate to tell you but felt like I should. Colton just called me.” This shocked Millie although she had known he would.

“I take it he didn’t buy the airline tickets ruse?” Millie crunched chips, looking into an already near-empty bag.

“You’re right about that.” Catherine paused. “Millie, I’m a little scared.”

“What? What did he say?” Millie regretted bringing this attention onto her best friend. It had been so stupid.

“He obviously asked where you were. You know I wouldn’t dare say. Then he said I had two days to get my mind right, or I’d be sorry.”

“So, you took that as a threat?” Millie had never fully shared how mean Colton could be, even though Catherine had seen the bruising.

“How else was I to take it?” Millie tried to make out voices that had entered the conversation. No doubt from Brett and their two girls. “You’ve said he’s capable of doing anything.” Even though Millie had told Catherine about the pending criminal charges against Colton and his friend Sandy, she’d stupidly shaped the story to indicate the two men had an alibi.

Molly was half-finished with her sandwich and scrolling her phone. But, this wasn’t the time to be completely open with Catherine. Molly didn’t know the full truth and Millie believed that was for the best. “I really don’t think he’d do anything rash. He’s smart enough to know that will would come back to haunt him.” Millie decided she’d call Catherine back when she could speak openly. For now, her best friend and her family were safe. They’re in Houston.

In the background, Brett was arguing with Carrie and Connie. Something about Joel Ostein and his wife Victoria. “Okay, if you say so. I trust your judgment since you know the man.”

Suddenly, the intercom crackled and a gruff man’s voice said, “let me have your attention.” Millie now was well aware of the two announcement process at five minute intervals: “all-aboard bus 684 bound for New York City.” Molly stuffed the last bite of her sandwich in her mouth headed to the drink fountain for a refill. “Catherine, I’ll call you later. You guys enjoy your time in Houston.”

Five minutes later, after a quick stop at an ancient, wood-floored restroom, Millie and Molly boarded the bus, tired, and anxious to end their twenty-eight hour nightmare.

Pop’s place was a small two-bedroom one story clapboard-sided house built in the fifties on a one-acre wooded lot. At the rear of the house was an attached two-car carport. Sixty-feet to the northwest was a single-car detached garage, currently locked, with an attached shed used by Mildred Simmons to protect her riding and push mowers, and an assortment of lawn-maintenance tools, including weed-eaters, blowers, edgers, and seed-spreaders. Pop’s house, as well as Mildred’s and the other ten houses on this side of Ruskin Drive, faced south and were surrounded on the north and east by the 3,500 acre Busse Woods Natural Preserve, itself encircled by a paved biking trail that meandered parallel to the homes rear boundary lines.

The inside of Pop’s house didn’t look like it had changed since it was constructed nearly three-quarters of a century ago. The floors in the utility room, kitchen, and both baths were linoleum. The other rooms—a large den, a small study, and two bedrooms—had low-pile shag carpeting, either yellow or green. The latter reminded Colton of guacamole, without the onions.

“Your Pop lived rather sparsely.” Colton had noticed several bare walls in the bedrooms and the absence of any type desk in the study.

Sandy looked inside the refrigerator, then opened every cabinet door, top and bottom, and each of the drawers. “At least she didn’t take the pots, pans, utensils, and a pound of coffee.”

“Your sister? But, she took the antiques and paintings you mentioned.” That explained the house’s empty feel.

“About two weeks ago. Sarah hired a moving company. She flew here and supervised the loading, and flew back to Phoenix without even a phone call.” Sandy said, leaning against the kitchen sink.

Colton returned to the den but still within Sandy’s earshot. It was odd an American Gothic hung on each of the den’s four walls. No doubt, reproductions, since the original of the 1930’s painting is in the Art Institute of Chicago’s collection. Apparently, Pop liked the now dead but still famous painter Grant Wood who favored scenes of rural people and Iowa cornfields. American Gothic portrays a farmer and his daughter standing in front of an Eldon, Iowa house. The farmer is holding the handle of a three-speared pitchfork while his daughter is staring at someone or something to her left. Colton would never have known these details if it weren’t for a visit with Molly and Millie to the museum shortly after they started dating. It was something to do with a school research project. That too was odd, since at the time Molly was only in the forth grade. “I guess Sarah didn’t like reproductions.”

Without responding, Sandy removed a notepad from a kitchen drawer along with a pencil and started writing a grocery list. “Coffee, creamer, sweetener, beer. Do you like pot pies?”

“Only if I’m starving. Let’s unload the truck, make a pot of coffee, and keep brainstorming our strategy. We’ve got lots to think about.”

They walked through the combination laundry and utility room to the carport. Colton made two trips, bringing in two duffle bags, a metal lock-box filled with a cache of pistols, and a briefcase stuffed with bank statements and a spiral notebook Millie used to capture names and addresses of plumbers, heating & air repairmen, carpenters, electricians, and anyone else she believed might be needed in the future. Sandy made one trip with a suitcase, a smaller duffle, and three extra-large pillows.

“Where’s the key to the garage?” Colton asked after depositing his things inside Pop’s bedroom. Naturally, Sandy had chosen the one he occupied in the summers while growing up since Sarah rarely visited.

“Pantry. You best be glad Pop was organized and a creature of habit. Or, we’d be looking for a hacksaw or bolt cutters to open the lock.” Sandy opened the narrow door beside the refrigerator and grabbed the labeled key from a small pegboard filled with an assortment of keys and screwdrivers.

Since making the decision he and Sandy had to disappear, Colton wondered what to do with the Ram. He knew they couldn’t use it in Chicago. At first, he’d thought about going out of town and trading it for something else. But, that seemed to swap one problem for another, given the near-certainty investigators would check the Department of Motor Vehicles database. Ultimately he’d gone with Sandy’s suggestion to use Pop’s Buick.

Colton sat in the Ram and turned up the heat. The weather was deteriorating. Snow was thickening. The temperature was falling. He eased the truck forward as Sandy crunched through two inches of the white stuff.

The key worked flawlessly. Sandy removed the Master Lock and raised the over-sized garage door. He couldn’t believe what he saw parked inside. Colton put the Ram in park and exited. “What the hell?”

The dark blue Mercedes Sprinter van looked brand new. “Damn, Pop lost his mind. He hated traveling. Was an absolute homebody.”

“These things don’t come cheap.” Colton added, walking to a locked driver’s side door. “Run grab the keys.” If Pop was so organized, the key would be on the pegboard. Yet, the key to the Buick was under the floor mat.

“Something’s wrong.” Sandy said, walking to the passenger side, checking the locked door, and peering inside the cab. “I bet this isn’t Pop’s. Two reasons. One, he wouldn’t dare spend this kind of money, and two, he’d never have a Branson, Missouri brochure.”

“Uh?”

“On the seat.” Sandy pointed as Colton joined him and stared at the colorful front page advertising Dolly Parton’s Dixie Stampede Dinner Attraction.

The sound of an approaching vehicle from Ruskin Drive caught their attention. At first, given the near-blinding snow, all they could see were two headlights. But then, a 1990’s Impala appeared and parked behind Colton’s Ram.

“Shit, that’s Mildred Simmons.” Sandy said, recognizing the car Pop’s favorite neighbor had purchased new when he was a ten-year-old lad.

Without exiting the Impala, and while leaning her red-haired head out a lowered window, the ancient woman with more wrinkles than an African bush elephant, half-screamed, “I’ve called the police. You’re not going to steal my van.”

“Well, that explains it. Just the hell we need.” Colton spouted, remaining in front of the Sprint.

“Rusty, it’s Sandy, Pop’s grandson. We’re not stealing anything.”

It took three attempts to convince her, including the inspection of Sandy’s driver’s license, and the correct name for the Pekingese Mildred, Rusty, owned fifteen years ago. After some deliberation Sandy said, “Scarlett.” No doubt, the dog was red.

“Oh my goodness.” Mildred said as she made a smooth exit from the Impala. “I’m so sorry about Pop, and for not making the funeral.” Pop’s death had been sudden, six months ago by heart-attack. Sandy and Rusty reminisced over bygone days with him silently regretting his near-failure to visit his grandfather during the last ten years of his life.

Fortunately, shortly after two Elk Grove police officers arrived, they departed with repeated assurances from Mildred she’d made a mistake in calling 911. The deciding assurance was her detailed narrative of the van purchased a year ago and Pop’s insistence she park it inside his detached garage. She even showed the officers her key that fit the Master Lock.

After Mildred returned home, Sandy lowered and secured the garage’s overhead door while Colton backed the RAM once again inside the carport.
Shivering, both men returned to the kitchen for more coffee. “Rusty is going to be a problem.” Sandy said as they stood with their backs to a five-grate gas heater just inside the den.