anything amusing. All she wanted was a safe place to stay. Somewhere she and Calista could get decent food and a clean bed without fear of being found.
“Honeybun, I don’t have a hamburger, but as soon as I find a place to stop, we’ll get one, I promise.”
Calista started to cry, simultaneously struggling to free herself from her car seat.
Amy wanted to cry, too. Instead, she dropped the bag of Cheerios on the seat next to Calista and, forcing herself to ignore her daughter’s tears, headed down the road toward Morgan Creek.
What she would do when she got there, Amy wasn’t sure. She only knew she couldn’t keep driving indefinitely. She and Calista needed a break or else one or both of them was headed for a meltdown.
Five minutes later she saw the first signs of habitation. Once in the town proper, Amy drove slowly. By the time she’d gone through two stop lights, she’d passed half a dozen storefronts, one bank and two steepled churches—one red brick, one white frame. Spying a service station in the next block on the right, she suddenly knew exactly what she was going to do. She headed for the station. She needed gas, anyway.
The August heat blasted her as she exited the car. By the time she’d extricated Calista from her car seat, Amy’s T-shirt was sticking to her.
While the attendant filled her gas tank—Amy had almost forgotten there were still full-service stations in existence—Amy took Calista into the rest room. After washing their hands and faces, Amy combed Calista’s hair, as well as her own, then applied fresh lipstick. With Calista in tow, Amy headed into the main building to hunt down a phone book.
“Sure thing, sugar,” the dark-eyed woman behind the counter said to Amy’s enquiry. Reaching under the counter, she produced a slim, dog-eared directory. “Who would you be lookin’ for?”
Amy was taken aback by the woman’s question. “Um, just an old friend.”
“I know near ever’one in these parts.”
Amy hesitated, then realized it was ridiculous to worry about revealing Lorna’s name. “This is a girl I knew years ago. I’m not even sure she lives here. Her name is Lorna Hathaway.”
“Lorna! Well, sure, sugar, I know Lorna. Shoot, I’ve known all them Hathaways since they were born.” Taking the phone book back from Amy, the woman flipped it open, found the appropriate page, then handed it back. “She’s right there,” she added, pointing about midway down the right page.
Sure enough, there it was: Hathaway, Lorna. That would never happen in one of the bigger cities. Women in places like Mobile almost always listed by their initials if they listed at all. When it came to danger, Amy guessed living in a small town was very different from living in a city. Today she was very grateful for that difference.
After paying for her gas, Amy wrote down Lorna’s phone number and walked outside to the public phone booth.
Unfortunately, Amy’s cell phone could no longer be used, not unless she wanted to take a chance on the call being traced. Would Lorna be there? It was only five-thirty. Maybe she had a job and wouldn’t get home until later. The phone at the other end rang six times with no answer. Amy was just about to hang up in disappointment when a breathless voice said, “Hello?”
“Lorna?”
“Yes?”
“Lorna, this is Amy. Amy Summers.” Summers was her maiden name. “Do you remember me? From freshman year at Florida State?”
“Amy! I can’t believe it. Why, it’s been years. Of course I remember you. Are you still in Florida?”
“Um, actually I’m in the process of moving.”
“From Florida?”
“No, from Louisiana.”
“That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Well, last year I was in Orlando for a couple of days, and I thought of you and tried to call you.”
“You did?” That seemed promising.
“Yes. I was really disappointed not to find you. I even checked with the alumni office at the school, thinking maybe they had an address for you, but they said they didn’t.”
Amy thought about how Cole had discouraged her from holding on to any part of her old life and how he’d gradually cut her off from everyone and everything he considered a threat to his total domination of her. He had even tried to keep her from visiting her father, but in that, Amy had put her foot down.
“So where are you now?” Lorna asked.
“Actually, I’m right here. In Morgan Creek.”
“You are?”
“I don’t blame you for being surprised.” Amy grimaced. “It’s a long story. I’m just traveling through, but I was hoping we might be able to get together.” She mentally crossed her fingers. “I thought I’d try to find a hotel around here, at least for tonight.”
“I’d love to get together. And forget about finding a hotel. You’re staying with me. I’ve got tons of room. Oh, Amy, I’m so thrilled you called! Okay, where, exactly, are you?”
Amy told her, and Lorna quickly gave her directions to her place. “It’s the third house on the right-hand side of the street. You can’t miss it. A yellow Victorian with dark-brown trim.”
Just as Lorna said, Amy had no trouble finding her street or the house. It was lovely—a beautifully kept, gingerbready Victorian with a cupola and a wraparound porch filled with wicker furniture and even a porch swing. What a perfect house, yet it seemed far too big for just one person. Though Lorna’s name had been listed in the directory as Hathaway, Amy wondered if she might be married, and if she had children.
Amy parked her silver Toyota on the street in front of the house and had barely gotten her driver’s-side door open when Lorna came bounding out the front door and down the porch steps.
Amy would have recognized her old friend anywhere. Lorna was older, yes, but she was still slender and blond, although her hair, which used to be halfway down her back, was now worn much shorter, in one of those messy styles currently popular. Amy, whose own dark hair was wildly curly, would have loved to pull off that more sophisticated look but knew it would never be in the cards.
“Amy!” Lorna’s smile was huge, her bright-blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Before Amy could open the back door to retrieve Calista, Lorna had enveloped her in an exuberant hug. “Oh, it’s wonderful to see you.” Releasing Amy, she stood back and studied her. “You look great. Not a day older than the last time I saw you.”
Amy made a face. “You never were a good liar. I look terrible and I know it.”
“You couldn’t look terrible if you tried.”
“Mommee!”
Lorna’s eyes widened and she stooped down to look into the car. “And who’s this precious little one?”
“That’s
