From Here to You Page 3

  I glanced at my watch. Another seven hours to kill before lights out. I closed my eyes, aiming for a half-hour nap, hoping it was just long enough to recharge, and short enough to keep the nightmares away.

  Someone knocked on the door, and my eyes popped open. “Hold on,” I said, stumbling to the door. I opened it to see Taylor Maddox and a few of his friends standing there. I tensed, ready for a fight.

  “We’re heading out to lunch downtown. Wanna come?” Taylor asked.

  Food was better than fighting faceless men with rifles that never seemed to run out of ammo the moment I fell asleep. “I’ll get my shirt.”

  Chapter Three

  Darby

  The cement floor under the wooden table I’d been ushered to by the host was sticky, but the glass enclosure of the Mexican restaurant I’d chosen was protection from the godforsaken wind and smoke from a fire not far outside of town. That the newspaper and salsa were free was an added bonus.

  My wedding dress was hanging in a pawn shop just north of downtown Colorado Springs, and the four hundred dollars it garnered had helped pay for the slacks, button-down shirt, bra, cotton panties, and flats I was wearing. Taking half what I’d paid for the dress less than six months before was downright painful. My thrift-store backpack held the navy-blue hoodie and a pair of heather-gray lounge pants I’d bought from there, but I’d needed something to interview in, and women’s work clothes were 50 percent off. So I sold the dress, saved the engagement ring in case I might need emergency cash later, and tried not to think too much about it. Any opportunity for immediate cash was nothing to thumb my nose at.

  My bouncing knee kept hitting the table, attracting the attention of some small children nearby. I couldn’t help it. I felt at any moment, Shawn would pull up in his stupid pickup truck and drag me back to Texas by my hair. I was free, but still afraid, and that made me angry.

  The waiter had left a pen with the check for me to sign a later credit-card statement, unaware I would pay cash for the seven-dollar check for a large queso and the Dr Pepper I’d ordered for a late lunch. Next to the empty bowls, I used the ballpoint to doodle in the margins of newspaper articles and circle ads in the classifieds—everything from a law firm secretary to a second- or third-shift desk clerk at a hotel. In Fort Hood, I’d been a waitress, and then I was the girlfriend of a jealous, overprotective, overbearing boyfriend who didn’t want to chance me working around people who might put crazy ideas in my head—or around other men who might look too long or make me think I was smarter, funnier, prettier than Shawn thought I was.

  “That’s pretty good,” the waiter said, pausing for a second to notice my drawing. “What is it?”

  “A palm tree…and a hula girl,” I said, trying to look at the thick lines and details through his eyes. It was pretty good. Too bad no one needed a professional doodler.

  “Are you having Bible study here?”

  “Oh,” I said, looking to Carly’s Bible next to me. “No.”

  “Hawaii,” he said with a nod. “Cool,” he said, and then walked away.

  I’d never been there. I’d never been anywhere. Traveling outside of Fort Hood was something I thought I’d do with Shawn. Now I was a twelve-hour drive away, alone. But, as I noted my hunkered-down posture, my hesitation to look anyone in the eye, I knew he was still with me, standing over me like the cowering, kicked puppy I’d turned into.

  I pulled one of my gently used black Toms away from the sticky floor to shift on the seat, barely noticing the atrocious noise it was making. I had to keep reminding myself that no one but me knew where I was, but I still took four glances a minute at the parking lot to make sure there were no familiar vehicles pulling in.

  “You’re okay,” I whispered as I flicked more detail into the hula girl’s long, dark hair. She was smiling and carefree, something I hadn’t done or felt in a very long time. On the bus, I’d thought that once I arrived at my destination, I’d magically be who I used to be—no nervousness, no worrying, no overwhelming feelings of dread. As each hour passed and I felt no different, that hope was replaced by something much darker. I didn’t want Shawn to have control, and there I sat, more afraid of him than I’d ever been.

  The Colorado Springs Hotel was just a few miles down the highway, just past Red Rock Canyon. I wondered if the hotel offered discounts on rooms to employees. That would be worth the twelve dollars an hour they offered. I stashed the Bible in my backpack, left two five-dollar bills on the table, and walked to the hostess stand, paper in hand and everything I owned hanging from my shoulders. I’d arrived in Colorado Springs at seven thirty in the morning. Between fishing through thrift stores in my dress, finding a pawn shop, and locating a store downtown that sold regular cotton panties and toiletries, I’d had a productive day, even if I couldn’t get the smoke smell out of my nose.

  “Excuse me,” I said to the man standing behind the podium. “May I borrow your phone?”

  He shook his head. “No phone.”

  “No phone?” I repeated. He was lying. Of course they had a phone, just not for customers. I sighed. I prayed they would allow an interview when I got there. By the time I arrived, it would be too close to dark to find somewhere else, and I’d have to spend a good chunk of what was left of my money for a room. At least it was a place to stay for the night.

  I readjusted my backpack and pushed out the door, walking across the parking lot toward the road and turning south. The sun was hidden behind a thick, hazy curtain, looking more like a pink, glowing ball, and I wondered if the sky would get dark quicker than usual. The road was congested with rush hour traffic and people leaving the Garden of the Gods and Red Rock Canyon before sundown. The exhaust and smoke made the air burn my throat with every breath, so I picked up the pace, hoping to reach the hotel sooner than later. Cars slugged along beside me on one side, a makeshift shelter on the other. A man sat on the ground next to a shopping cart full of his only belongings. His face was dirty and worn, telling a story of struggle and failure. From my side of the tin walls that shielded him from the wind, his life looked like one big open wound, bleeding so much and for so long, he barely noticed anything was wrong anymore.

  I stopped at his home and handed him a twenty-dollar bill, and while he stared at his hand in confusion, I walked away, wanting to make sure I had real walls, running water, and a bed for the night.

  The Midland Expressway had no walkway, and at times, not much space between red cliff faces and the shoulder of the road. Two sliding glass doors swept open for me when I approached the hotel entrance, and I stepped into smells of cheap carpet freshener and fresh-brewed coffee as air-conditioning blasted me in the face. The lobby was decorated in beiges and fake plants, devoid of color or that homey feel most hotels failed at emulating. At the back wall was the lobby bar, where a sign next to the last stool read WELCOME FIREFIGHTERS! HALF-PRICE IPAS AND APPETIZERS!

  A man stood behind the counter, wiping it down with a white rag. His dark hair was stiff, gelled into place, his thick, over-manicured eyebrows pulling together when he noticed me.

  “Come on over, sunshine,” he said, offering one of the stools. I could tell when men were flirting with me, and truth be told, most did. I had been used enough to know if that was the intention, and sometimes men wanted to be used. But the bartender’s tone was nowhere on the seduction spectrum, instead sounding more like he was speaking to his little sister.

  I crossed the lobby, passing a group of men ambling around, two couches and a single chair gathered together in front of a large flat-screen television. The bar was in the corner, adjacent to the entrance to the elevator bay, and on the opposite side of the room from the check-in counter.

  “Checking in?” he asked. His cheap name tag read Stavros. Faint lines around his eyes deepened when he smiled, matching the three on his forehead. Maybe ten years older than me, Stavros had probably seen hundreds of pretty women pass through his bar, and I was just one of many. He was decent enough a man not to attempt to bed every
one.

  I sat on the stool, peeking over at the empty check-in counter. “I’m hoping to talk to a manager.”

  “Oh?”

  “I saw the ad in the paper for the job.”

  He smirked. “Oh, the job. He should be back any minute. Can I get you a drink?”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “Just a water, please.”

  He nodded. “You do look parched.”

  I breathed out a laugh. “Do I look like anything else? I walked here. I’d be surprised if I wasn’t a sweaty mess.”

  “Walked here?” he said, dropping ice into a glass with a scoop and then using the gun to fill the glass. “From where?”

  “A Mexican restaurant down the road.”

  He frowned. “Sweet pea, that’s not down the road. That’s at least four miles from here. You must really want the job.”

  “I do. And I was going to get a room for the night. Maybe for a few nights.”

  “Did you just get into town?”

  I nodded. “This morning.”

  He gestured to my backpack. “What’s in the bag?”

  “My stuff. All of it.”

  He stared at me, dubious. “You don’t look like a vagrant.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Trust me, there are plenty of vagrants here from Texas.”

  “I’m not from…” There was no point. He knew where I was from the second I’d opened my mouth.

  He stared at me for a moment. “Why did you come?”

  “Just seeing the world, I guess.”

  He smirked again. “Don’t lie. I can already tell you suck at it.”

  I squirmed in my seat, crossing my arms over my middle. “I don’t really wanna…”

  “You didn’t kill him, did you?” he asked, not so much afraid as he was intrigued. “The guy.”

  I shook my head.

  “I see. What’s your name?”

  “Darby…Cooke.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, unconvinced. “You think with a first name like Darby the fake last name is going to help?”

  I sunk back in my seat.

  “Cooke it is, then. Your secret is safe with me.” Stavros’s attention was drawn to the check-in counter. An older woman had appeared from the elevator bay, chewing on the last bite of her meal and rubbing her hands together. She was standing, the computer waist-high.

  Stavros rolled his eyes. “That’s Tilde.”

  “She seems nice,” I said, watching her work on the computer. She wore blue eye shadow up to her penciled-in brows, and bright pink lipstick. She was as round as she was tall, and occasionally she smiled, even if it was toward no one in particular.

  “Mostly. She works second shift, three to eleven, so by the time she’s comfortable enough to show her cranky side, you’ll be on nights. She’ll be training you, and she’s been working double shifts to cover, so she can be testy at times.”

  “If I get the job.”

  “You’ve got the job,” he said.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because I own this place.”

  “Oh,” I said, watching him walk across the room. He and Tilde had a quiet conversation about me, and then he waved me over.

  “Tilde will get you a room and your paperwork. Employees get rooms for twenty dollars a night, bumped up to half price if we’re full, no housekeeping services. Can you start now?”

  My eyebrows shot up toward my hairline, and I blinked. “Now? Sure. Absolutely.”

  “Good. Get your things. You’re just down the hall from the desk.” He looked at Tilde. “One hundred.”

  Tilde nodded, returning to the desk and clicking away.

  “Then I come back down here? Is what I’m wearing okay?”

  He waved me away. “You look gorgeous. Once you can get a white button-down and black slacks, that’s the typical uniform.”

  Tilde approached us holding a white key card, and I looked to Stavros. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this. Thank you so much.”

  He nodded, heading back to the bar. “We’re going to get slammed soon. We’ve got hotshots coming in from all over. Just…try to keep up.”

  When he turned his back, I looked to Tilde. “What’s a hotshot?”

  “Firefighters,” she said, guiding me to the elevator bay. “They’re coming to control the fires outside of town. Just watch me and smile at the guests. You won’t learn it all in one night.”

  I half expected her to press the elevator button, but she kept walking to the end of the hall, just past a door labeled STORAGE.

  The number on the door read 100, and Tilde gestured for me to try the key card. A beep sounded and a muted green light flashed when I pressed the plastic to the black square above the handle. The latch released, and I smiled at Tilde.

  “Thank you,” I said, pushing the door open.

  “Can you be back at the desk in half an hour?”

  “Yes. I’ll just freshen up and be down.”

  The door slammed behind me, and I peered into the dark room, the sunlight struggling to burn through the slit of the blackout curtains. I reached next to the door, flipping on the light, then reaching up to swing the silver door guard over. The vent came on when I pushed up on the light switch. The single sink was surrounded by two feet of counter space, and a matching off-white shower curtain hid a shower and tub. The large mirror was spotless. For a fleeting moment, I wished housekeeping services came with my discounted rent, but that would just be too good to be true.

  The short hallway opened to a twelve-by-twenty room with nightstands on each side of the queen-sized bed. A television sat on top of a wooden dresser with six drawers. The other furniture consisted of a desk, a desk chair, an upholstered chair that was supposed to match the green-and-blue patterned carpet but didn’t quite hit the mark, and an AC/heating unit beneath the window.

  I opened the drawers, realizing that one side was an empty refrigerator, larger than typical for a hotel room. In the wall the main room shared with the bathroom was an inset area for the microwave and coffee maker, and a two-burner range with a vent above. I can cook! I fell back onto the bed. Comfy. I couldn’t believe my luck. Our luck. Thank you, God.

  I touched my abdomen, the center point between my hip bones—a guess. “We’re going to be okay…” Was the baby a girl? A boy? My expression screwed into disgust at the name it. I wouldn’t know for a long time, if at all until he or she was born. My baby was the size of a bean or something. Bean. Baby Bean Dixon. “We’re going to be okay, Bean.”

  I said the words aloud, more for myself than anything. Thoughts of how I would support a baby, where we would live, costs of diapers and day care. I was thankful for the job more than for the paycheck. Keeping busy would help preoccupy my mind, away from the overwhelming fear. I was a single mother. I smiled. At least I was free.

  Unable to remove the grin from my face, I dug into my backpack and fished out my toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, and deodorant. I rushed to the bathroom, placed the few toiletries I owned where I wanted them, and squeezed a dot of toothpaste on the brush. Scrub and spit. Scrub and spit. Rinse. The toothbrush clicked against the edge of the sink, and then I used the glass as a holder. Deodorant, a brush through my hair, then I grabbed my key card and wallet and rushed out the door, walking quickly down the hall.

  The elevator opened, and I smacked into a tall man, bouncing backward.

  “Oh, God! I’m so sorry!” I said before I’d even caught my balance.

  He grabbed me before I fell, looking down on me with concern in his eyes. “Christ, are you okay?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” I said, brushing off his T-shirt, as if I’d left dirt on him.

  “You hit me pretty hard,” he said.

  “I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”

  He laughed once, and I looked at him then. He was a head and a half taller than me, and his heavily tattooed biceps filled his sleeves, the artwork spanning down to both wrists. He looked like someone’s bodyguard, instantly mak
ing me feel intimidated.

  “What are you running from?” he asked.

  “Me? Nothing,” I insisted, my tone a bit defensive.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh! You mean the…” I pointed my thumb behind me. “Just going to work.” I gestured to Tilde at the front desk.

  “Here? You work here?” he asked, pointing to the floor. “I haven’t seen you around.”

  “First day,” I said, hoping my smile wasn’t as awkward as I felt. “I should probably…”

  “Oh. Sure.”

  “Sorry again.” I walked away before he could respond. Speaking to men besides Shawn wasn’t something I’d done in a long time. Certainly not when Shawn was around. News traveled fast on the base, and few things set Shawn off faster than hearing another man was paying me any attention.

  Tilde smirked when I arrived, twin chains hanging from the earpieces of her glasses dangling in unison. “You okay?”

  “I am so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have been walking that fast. I was just excited.”

  “Are you kidding? That was pure gold. Besides, you couldn’t put a dent in that one.” Tilde coughed once to clear her throat, the same short, crackly, smoker’s cough my mom had.

  “You know him?”

  “He’s one of the interagency guys.” I blinked in confusion, and she continued. “The hotshots. The one with all the tattoos checked in today. Maddox. He has a twin, and I’m not sure which is which, but I am sure he’ll have a girl in his room at least once while he’s here. You’ll start getting real good at reading people. Married couples. Married couples who come here but aren’t married to each other. Those that come for work, the regulars, the frazzled parents with five kids. The young couples who have dogs for kids. The older couples who have dogs for kids. The truckers. The druggies. The college kids. The vagrants. You’ll see them all.”