by Jill G. Hall
A minute later, her phone buzzed. “Anne?”
She began to cry again so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.
“Babe?” His voice sounded very far away.
“I’m having a meltdown.” She sniffled and reached for another tissue, but the box was empty. “And I’m all out of Kleenex!”
“Where are you?”
“My apartment.”
“Be there in half an hour.”
She took a bath, held a cool cloth on swollen eyes, brushed her wild hair, slipped into a sexy red nightie, and waited all night for him to arrive. But he never did.
27
The bathroom wall heater’s orange coils hummed. Sylvia, naked except for a towel wrapped around her shoulders, stood at the sink, sighed at her image in the mirror, and combed fingers through her blonde shoulder-length hair. Yesterday she had left the pawnshop with a newfound sense of self-confidence, bought fresh clothes at the mercantile, and checked into the Hotel Monte Vista. Knowing it was only a matter of time before the police started looking for her, she had a desire to go incognito with a whole new look. “Here goes.” She opened a drugstore sack and placed the contents on the vanity table: scissors, comb, timer, dye, and Vogue.
Picking up the scissors, she captured a handful of hair, gritted her teeth, snipped, and threw the clump into the trashcan below the sink. Strands floated like ashes onto the tile floor. She held another section and clipped again, throwing away the bundle. Quickening her speed, she continued until her hair was quite short, a pixie cut, like Mary Martin in Peter Pan. Sylvia thought she had done a pretty good job, leaving short bangs and feathery sides.
She picked up the Miss Clairol box of dye and studied the lovely redhead on the front. Sylvia read the directions, poured the inky liquid into a hotel glass, and stirred in hot water from the tap. “Does she . . . or doesn’t she?” Sylvia said to herself. “Well, she does now!”
If she didn’t mix correctly, her hair might turn as bright as Lucille Ball’s. She poured the brew onto her scalp, massaged it into her hair, and then combed it through. With the back of her hand, she wiped drips off her forehead and dabbed some onto her eyebrows. She set the timer, put the lid down on the commode, and sat there, trying to read the Vogue, but she kept checking the timer. What if she left it on too long and all her hair fell out? That had happened to a Mills girl, one of the mean ones, so at the time, Sylvia thought it kind of humorous.
Ten minutes later, the timer rang. She rinsed her hair out in the sink and let the water run, but even so, dark stains remained around the drain. She dressed in her new clothes: Lee Rider jeans, a light blue shirt with pearl snap buttons, and cowboy boots.
She smiled at the transformation reflected in the mirror and ran her fingers through the new auburn do. Without its weight, her hair curled into light wisps. No one would recognize her now, not even Ricardo—and then she shook her head, remembering that he was gone. Even though she was weighed down with guilt, she felt relieved he was out of her life.
She opened the bathroom door. Lucy jumped off the bed and growled.
“It’s me. Sylvia. Or should I say, the new me?”
At the sound of her voice, Lucy grew quiet and barked.
Sylvia sat on the edge of the bed and murmured a made-up song:
Are you ready to start a new life?
Travel the road?
Let go of the strife
and our heavy load?
Lucy howled as if singing along.
Sylvia patted next to her on the white chenille bedspread. The puppy leapt up and put her head on Sylvia’s thigh while she petted her for a few moments. Then she put on the new plaid Pendleton jacket, grabbed her purse, and slipped out the door.
She ordered breakfast at the coffee shop next door, but when she unfurled and skimmed the Arizona Sun newspaper, on page three, Heiress and Fiancé Missing blazed in large print. Accompanying the article was the same photo that had run with the engagement announcement, only this time, it had been blown up twice the size and splashed across the page. She felt faint, folded her arms on the table, and rested her head.
Lucy crawled over and licked her hand while the waitress brought a fresh glass of water. After Sylvia’s dizziness subsided and her head had cleared, she returned to the article. It described the engagement party. And it even mentioned that they might be traveling with a small beagle.
Sylvia needed air and exited the diner with Lucy at her heels. A wide-brimmed cowgirl hat, also a mercantile purchase, shielded her eyes from the sun’s rays that streamed out from behind billowy white clouds. She looked up at the peaks and felt a calmness she’d never known before, a sense of quiet beauty. Unlike her home-town, Flagstaff had been built on flat land below the hills instead of on them. The dry air was clearer here without the damp sea breezes and fog. Perhaps she’d stay in this town for a while. Her disguise should keep her safe.
Lucy sniffed ahead, nose to the ground. Water sparkled and dripped off the pine trees, making a tiny river along the street’s edge. Sylvia clomped along the wooden sidewalk in her Western boots. Besides being practical, they were much more comfortable than the pumps she usually wore.
At this time of morning in San Francisco, cars would be speeding down the streets and inhabitants would rush by on their way to work, errands, and shopping. She listened: no honking horns or yelling voices—not even a barking dog. A bluebird flew down and landed in a nest under the eaves of a nearby café. Down the street, a shopkeeper opened his door, swept the front, and put out a welcome mat.
She glanced across the street, and her heart skidded. She reached for her pearl necklace, but of course it wasn’t there. The man from the pawnshop stood looking at her. He stared at Lucy and then at Sylvia again. She froze, not sure what to do.
He crossed the street and asked, “Hey! Where’s your friend?”
Sylvia hoped her new look would be successful camouflage. She picked up Lucy and put her hand over the pink rhinestone collar. “What friend?” Sylvia tried to disguise her voice with a high-pitched twang.
“The puppy’s owner.”
“Lucky is mine.”
“You sure?” He squinted and stroked his beard. “Have you seen another dog like that around?”
“Nope.” Sylvia shook her head.
“Could be from the same litter.” He leaned over and tried to pet Lucy, but she yapped at him.
The man backed up, “Snarly little thing!” He studied Sylvia. “You do look familiar.”
She bucked her teeth over her bottom lip. “Think so?”
“Guess not.” He shook his head, walked down the street, and entered the Monte Vista.
She let her body ease, but it tensed again as it dawned on her she had better leave town before he discovered the truth. Good thing she had paid for her room in advance. She didn’t really need the satchel and those old clothes anyway. At least she had her handbag.
“Okay, girl, let’s go back to the station and check schedules.” The thought of getting on another stuffy train made Sylvia nauseous. At the highway, with Lucy still in her arms, she waited while several cars whisked by, then crossed and entered the station. The taped note on the empty ticket window said that the next train wouldn’t depart until 9:00 PM.
She looked at her watch—it was only ten in the morning. She went back to the highway and looked left, then right. Down the road, high in the sky, a red, white, and blue sign said:
MARTY’S CARS
SEMI-NEW AND USED
You Try ’em then Buy ’em
She walked toward the sign. In the muddy lot, several vehicles were lined up: a Studebaker, a Rambler station wagon, and an Edsel. At a turquoise car, she paused. She’d never been interested in cars like Ricardo had been, but she had admired the Thunderbird advertised in magazines. Now up close, she knew it was the most adorable car she’d ever seen, with tiny fins and white trim. Behind it, a travel trailer’s rounded body glistened in the sun. She wandered over and admired the car’s leather inte
rior.
“Hey, girlie girl.” A short man in a tall cowboy hat approached her.
“Beg your pardon?”
He cleared his throat and began again. “I’m Marty. Kin’ I help you?”
She touched the car hood in awe. “How much is it?” Lucy squirmed, and Sylvia set her down.
“Fabulous, huh? Came in yesterday.” He rested his pudgy hands on his stomach, which protruded over a shiny belt buckle. “Before we start dealing, you gotta drive this baby.”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head.
“You can. Gotta unhitch the bullet first.” He pointed behind the T-Bird. She’d never seen inside a real trailer before. “May I peek?”
“All rightie.” He pulled a chock-full key ring from his belt loop and opened the door. Lucy ran in first, and then Sylvia and Marty stepped inside. Neat as a pin with red gingham curtains hanging in the windows, it smelled of oranges and cloves. It had a toilet, shower, refrigerator, and sink. Books lined the shelves too.
Marty spread his arms wide. “Give you a package deal. This sixteen-footer Bambi is well stocked and has all the comforts of home. See, a lounge bed with blankets and another one that pulls out.” He tugged on a folding bed to display a foam mattress and opened an upper cupboard. “Even a sleeping bag in case you want to commune out under the stars. Complete with lots of camping equipment. Live in nature. Not see a soul for weeks.”
That was exactly what she needed. No one would find her in here. Being in nature would be nice. She did like flowers.
She stepped outside and studied the T-Bird and trailer hook up. “Is it difficult to drive?”
“Naw. It’s a cinch.”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, afraid of the challenge.
“I could teach you.”
“Really?”
“Come on, hop in.” He opened the driver’s door. She lifted Lucy into the tiny back area before slipping into the driver’s seat. Marty tossed his hat upside down beside Lucy, squeezed into the seat, and handed Sylvia the key.
She inserted it and turned on the ignition. The car sputtered and died. Giggling nervously, she tried again, and this time the car leapt forward. “Damn!” She put her hand to her mouth and looked at him. “Sorry.”
“Nothing I haven’t heard before. Check the rearview mirror to make certain the trailer is straight. Keep aware of the other traffic. Now nudge on the gas pedal.”
She did so, and the T-Bird inched onto the highway. A horn honked as a pickup swerved just in time. Sylvia pressed on the brakes and Marty grabbed the dashboard. “Careful!”
She pulled over to the side of the road and tried to catch her breath. Remembering the freedom of those days when Paul first taught her to drive, she wanted to lick this too and said, “Let me give it another try.”
“You sure?”
She nodded. “Now what?”
Marty wiped his brow with a kerchief.
She took a deep breath and cruised back out onto Route 66, curving east. The travel trailer wove back and forth behind them like a tinfoil zeppelin. It felt as if it might topple over. She gripped the steering wheel and tried to keep it steady. Soon the T-Bird’s motion smoothed out, and the trailer coasted right behind. The cars in the left-hand lane drove past with ease.
“That’s right. You’re getting the hang of it now.”
Along the two-lane highway, pine trees lined the road, and a few cars passed in the opposite direction. She felt more confident and sped up.
“Slow down, girl!” Marty grabbed the dashboard again. “That’s better. Now, past the Texaco station ahead, turn left onto the college campus. There’ll be less traffic.” She nodded and turned left. The trailer wobbled behind, but she was able to get it back on course.
Marty rolled down the window. “Yes, this baby has power steering, brakes, and windows.” He continued with a rapid voice, “Two hundred and twenty-five horsepower and a V8 engine—you could drive anywhere you wanted to go in no time.”
Satisfied this had to be the perfect setup, she drove through the campus filled with brick buildings with the first genuine smile she’d felt in days. Then she steered back out along Route 66, pulled into the lot, and turned off the motor. She hoped it wouldn’t be too expensive.
Marty lugged himself out of the car. He grabbed his hat from the backseat and stared at the chewed brim. “What the heck?”
“How could you?” Sylvia snapped the puppy up in her arms. Lucy blinked at them both with innocent brown eyes.
“That’s okay, miss.”
“I’ll pay for a new one.”
“Forget it. She’s just a puppy. Step into my office here, and we’ll talk business.” They entered the closet-like room. Sylvia carefully sat in the chair he pulled out for her with a missing back and cracked leather.
He moved behind his desk. “Let’s see how I can get you to buy this today.” He wrote a number on a piece of paper and slid it across the desk to her. She had just that much cash, but then nothing would be left. She crossed out Marty’s number and wrote a much, much smaller one, hoping he’d accept it.
He hesitated, wrote another number, and passed it to her.
“Deal.” She nodded with a smile.
He shook her hand, pulled a clipboard from under a pile on his desk, and handed it to her. “Fill out these forms, and I’ll also need your driver’s license.”
She stood. “Is that really necessary? I’m kinda in a rush.”
“You’re not on the lam, are you?” he joked.
She swallowed a lump in her throat. “No, nothing like that.” She took the clipboard and filled in the form with made-up data, hoping that wasn’t illegal. “Sorry, but I don’t have my license with me.”
“Well, we have regulations here. I can’t let you . . .”
She pulled a wad of money from her purse. “I can bring it by later.”
He eyed the cash, “Okay. By four thirty, closing time,” then nodded with a wink as she counted it into his hand.
“Here’s a little extra to replace your hat,” she smiled.
He walked her to the car, and she set Lucy in the passenger seat. “Thanks, Marty. For everything.”
He shook her hand again. “Now be careful not to go uphill for too long. There’s just so much hauling the T-bird can do in one day.” As she pulled out of the parking lot, he yelled, “Enjoy your land yacht!”
28
On Highway 66 driving out of town, evergreens stood tall like sentinels along the roadside. In the T-Bird with the trailer behind, Sylvia pushed hard on the gas pedal. She had no idea where she was going and decided to just keep heading east. But no matter how far away from San Francisco she got, the truth would never change—she had shot Ricardo. How would she ever find forgiveness for that?
With the heavy rig behind her, she felt powerful, and she wondered what Paul would think if he could see her. At least she knew he would tease her about the haircut and color. He must be mad with worry though, and she planned to drop him a line soon, as well as one to Milo and Ella too. How would they all feel about her though if they found out about what happened to Ricardo?
Sylvia switched on the radio. Elvis Presley’s voice blurted, “You ain’t nothing but a hound dog.” Lucy awoke from the passenger seat and blinked.
“Yes, Lucy, he’s singing your song.” Sylvia just loved Elvis. She had seen him on the Ed Sullivan Show. Ella pretended not to like him but would always sit and watch. Afterward, Milo would make them laugh by doing his funny impersonations by rolling his hips around and singing into an invisible microphone. Because it was Sunday, “the really big show” would be on tonight. Sylvia felt sad they would be watching without her.
After driving for an hour, she grew thirsty and pulled into the Wikiup Trading Post. Looking in the rearview mirror to freshen up, the new hairdo caught her by surprise, and she laughed. While applying lipstick, she noticed a woman watching through the store’s dusty window.
Sylvia got out of the T-Bird and sai
d to Lucy, “Be right back, sweetie.” On the store’s porch, Sylvia selected a bottle of Coca-Cola from the fridge. A little bell tinkled as she opened the trading post’s door, and the Indian woman behind the counter nodded.
Sylvia put her soda on the counter and picked up a newspaper. She glanced at the front page. Thank heavens her picture wasn’t on it. It felt good to stretch her legs as she browsed the stuffy shop. Kachina dolls, rubber tomahawks, and conch belts lined the shelves. She unfolded a T-shirt that said Navajo Land with dancing warriors on the front. Another top had the Grand Canyon and mules printed on it, and still another had Monument Valley, which she put over her arm. She looked up and saw that the woman still watched her. Sylvia folded the other T-shirts and put them back on the shelf neatly.
Even though the Grand Canyon was nearby, she had no desire to visit it. She craved wide-open spaces, rock formations, mesas, and geysers, tall things from nature that reached toward the sky. Not unlike the man-made structures she had lived with all her life—such as Coit Tower, the Golden Gate Bridge, and Grace Cathedral. But imagine seeing sky-high gifts from God—like Monument Valley. Was it nearby? She had seen pictures of it in Western films. Enormous tabletops—some spiky, some rounded—reaching for the sky like an outlaw raising his arms in surrender. Twirling a postcard rack, she grinned at the rabbit with antlers, a mythical creature called a jackalope. Paul would get a kick out of it. Maybe if she made him laugh he’d forgive her for leaving town without telling him. For Milo and Ella, she selected a card with a young Indian girl on it. Her sweet innocent face might help them forget all the disrespectful things Sylvia had said to them lately.
In order to camp, she needed provisions. The store had a small selection of grocery items. What would Ella choose? She would certainly advise as always, “Choose nutritious. That’s delicious.”
