All That Was Happy
Page 18
“Are you sure?” Father said.
“I’ve got to be going,” she said, rising. “Thanks a lot Father. Take good care of Mr. Boopers--he saved my life once.”
The early afternoon was hazy, the warm Spring air creating the necessary hydrothermality required for a Stage 2 smog alert. Downtown, at the bus station, the smell of diesel exhaust from the massive bus engines was choking as she parked her Mercedes in the lot. She laid the pink slip on the dash and tossed the keys on the front seat. As an afterthought, she tossed the empty straw purse into the back before making her way into the terminal and up to the ticket counter.
“How much for a one-way to Belleville, Illinois?” she said.
“Sixty-two dollars,” the clerk said.
Beckie opened her purse and examined the contents.
“I’ve got just enough,” she said.
“You’re crying,” he said.
“It’s only the smog,” she said.
Epilogue
There was nobody on the bus. The driver kept getting on and off and talking with a supervisor on the platform. While her eyes were on the driver, a single passenger boarded. Huntington.
"I bought all the seats," he said. "So it is only you and me."
The driver boarded and said, "Where to?"
"Nowhere for now," Huntington replied. "Just get us out of town."
The driver blasted the horn a couple of times to avoid crushing anything behind him and smoothly backed out. Soon they were racing down the Ventura Freeway to somewhere beyond the smog, a place perhaps where sand and sea came together, a place where two human beings would live out their destiny.
Beckie looked into Huntington's eyes, his return gaze like a perfect wave breaking cleanly across the interior of her soul.
“Huntington,” she said.
In his hand was a white chrysanthemum.
The End
M. M. Wilshire
cityofangelsdreams@comcast.net
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All That Was Happy