canoe, before I declared it good enough. I’d picked up my purse and started to slide off the seat before I realized I was barefoot. I remembered one flip-flop bobbing in the water at the station, but where had I lost the second one? I had no idea. Maybe it was at the nursery. It didn’t matter.
I dug around in my overnight bag for runners, not really caring but aware that I already stood out. If someone came looking for me I didn’t want the staff in the fast-food joint to remember me, and they would if they’d refused to serve me because I was barefoot, shoes being the minimum dress code necessary for service. I glanced at the brightly lit interior of the restaurant as I laced up the runners. Seeing as I was going to be the only customer in the place, it was unlikely they would refuse to serve me even if I came in naked. I wished it was packed with diners, a crowd I could disappear into.
I grabbed a baseball cap out of the back seat and tucked my damp hair up inside.
I jammed my keys deep in my pocket where they’d be safe, and picked up my purse, eager to be in the too-bright protection of the fast-food joint. As I turned to push open the door, the blood smeared on the driver’s window made me hesitate, but only for a second. He wasn’t my problem.
Inside, the smell of grease and stale coffee comforted me. The counter guy’s face was filled with end-of-the-shift tiredness and boredom. He yawned when I stood before him. He didn’t seem to notice that I’d been dragged through a ditch and eaten by an army of bugs. But then, working here, he’d seen it all. I could have been a walking zombie and it wouldn’t have mattered to this guy. I even liked that.
I delivered my starvation order with saliva gathering in my mouth. It had been a long time since the conch fritters and sea bass I’d had for dinner. The coffee he shoved towards me was too hot, the full breakfast on an English muffin was too salty, but I adored it all. I wanted to stay there, out of harm’s way and without the need to make any life-shattering decisions, forever.
I waited for my second coffee to cool enough to drink and stared out the window. With the passing of time my fear lessened, but not all of it. The night’s events had left a residue of anxiety. Now it was over, and I was certain I would survive; I just wanted to put the whole thing behind me.
But there was a new worry buzzing in my head. Experience had taught me that it is a bad thing to be a witness to a crime. Not long ago, I’d witnessed a man die, a man some thought I could have saved, so I knew what to expect when you become a witness. Long interviews, going over the same material again and again, days of work missed for court time only to have it rescheduled—just the thought of the tedious and sometimes terrifying process had my face twisting in a grimace of distaste.
Worse than the inconvenience were the gossip and rumors that would start when it got out that I wasn’t at the Sunset because I was in court. My past was colorful enough that volumes would be read into my involvement in another crime. Murmurs would start that there had to be more: she must have done something to get mixed up in this . Even my best friends would grill me on how and why. I didn’t want to go through any of that again.
There was another thing. I didn’t want those guys out in the Everglades to ever know I was there. Angie and the boy knew, but they had no idea who I was or where I lived. I could just slip away and never be connected to any of this. And really, what details could I offer? I had no names, no why, not even a when. The police would learn about the dead man soon enough, and the crime scene would say more than I ever could. This was one mess I didn’t need to stir my stick in. I pushed my cold coffee away. I wanted to be home. I left the fast-food place eager to wipe out all memory of the previous night. This time I drove cautiously, not wanting to attract attention. When I hit
I dug around in my overnight bag for runners, not really caring but aware that I already stood out. If someone came looking for me I didn’t want the staff in the fast-food joint to remember me, and they would if they’d refused to serve me because I was barefoot, shoes being the minimum dress code necessary for service. I glanced at the brightly lit interior of the restaurant as I laced up the runners. Seeing as I was going to be the only customer in the place, it was unlikely they would refuse to serve me even if I came in naked. I wished it was packed with diners, a crowd I could disappear into.
I grabbed a baseball cap out of the back seat and tucked my damp hair up inside.
I jammed my keys deep in my pocket where they’d be safe, and picked up my purse, eager to be in the too-bright protection of the fast-food joint. As I turned to push open the door, the blood smeared on the driver’s window made me hesitate, but only for a second. He wasn’t my problem.
Inside, the smell of grease and stale coffee comforted me. The counter guy’s face was filled with end-of-the-shift tiredness and boredom. He yawned when I stood before him. He didn’t seem to notice that I’d been dragged through a ditch and eaten by an army of bugs. But then, working here, he’d seen it all. I could have been a walking zombie and it wouldn’t have mattered to this guy. I even liked that.
I delivered my starvation order with saliva gathering in my mouth. It had been a long time since the conch fritters and sea bass I’d had for dinner. The coffee he shoved towards me was too hot, the full breakfast on an English muffin was too salty, but I adored it all. I wanted to stay there, out of harm’s way and without the need to make any life-shattering decisions, forever.
I waited for my second coffee to cool enough to drink and stared out the window. With the passing of time my fear lessened, but not all of it. The night’s events had left a residue of anxiety. Now it was over, and I was certain I would survive; I just wanted to put the whole thing behind me.
But there was a new worry buzzing in my head. Experience had taught me that it is a bad thing to be a witness to a crime. Not long ago, I’d witnessed a man die, a man some thought I could have saved, so I knew what to expect when you become a witness. Long interviews, going over the same material again and again, days of work missed for court time only to have it rescheduled—just the thought of the tedious and sometimes terrifying process had my face twisting in a grimace of distaste.
Worse than the inconvenience were the gossip and rumors that would start when it got out that I wasn’t at the Sunset because I was in court. My past was colorful enough that volumes would be read into my involvement in another crime. Murmurs would start that there had to be more: she must have done something to get mixed up in this . Even my best friends would grill me on how and why. I didn’t want to go through any of that again.
There was another thing. I didn’t want those guys out in the Everglades to ever know I was there. Angie and the boy knew, but they had no idea who I was or where I lived. I could just slip away and never be connected to any of this. And really, what details could I offer? I had no names, no why, not even a when. The police would learn about the dead man soon enough, and the crime scene would say more than I ever could. This was one mess I didn’t need to stir my stick in. I pushed my cold coffee away. I wanted to be home. I left the fast-food place eager to wipe out all memory of the previous night. This time I drove cautiously, not wanting to attract attention. When I hit
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