The Mayville Diner wasn’t pretty. There was no faux-1950s vibe, no chrome cladding or neon lights. The painted wooden walls were peeling and beaten, faded to a grey-blue by the heat of the sun. It was half-deserted, only a couple of cars peppering the lot, and Rachel wondered if it had even opened after the storm. Then she started to worry about what they’d do if it wasn’t. Murphy’s need for coffee and food was making her edgy. She wasn’t sure he could survive much longer without a caffeine injection.
As soon as they opened the door and felt the warm air waft against their faces, her fears evaporated. The smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen. The aroma put a big smile on Murphy’s face.
They were taken to a booth next to the window. The red, faux-leather benches were tattered and torn, yellow stuffing oozing from holes in the covering.
“Coffee?” The waitress stood over them with a pot. Murphy nodded his head a little too vigorously, while Rachel smiled and held out her mug, agreeing silently to a cup. She took their orders—a large breakfast for Murphy, a plate of pancakes for Rachel—and left them to it, the silence welcomed for a moment by them both.
Murphy was the first to break it. “I need to go back to Boston.” He took a sip of his coffee to wash down the words. “I’m not taking you with me.”
Panic gripped her stomach like a fist. It was like his words had come out from nowhere. “What?”
“I’ve got commitments there.”
She was finding it hard to breathe. She thought she’d have at least a few more hours before she really needed to think about her next steps. Enough times to feel comfortable about leaving Hillbrook, and all that she’d become used to. “You’re going without me?” Another tortured breath. “I can’t do this.”
His fingers curled around hers beneath the Formica table. “Yes, you can. I can’t take you to Boston. I won’t have you anywhere near him.”
“I’ve got nowhere else to go.” Tears pricked at her eyes like a sharp fork, blurring her vision. She swallowed them down with a sip of her coffee, the bitter liquid burning her tongue. So this was it—the brush off, the “Dear John.” We had a good time, but I’m not looking for commitment…
“You’re stronger than you think.” Another squeeze of her hand. Murphy angled his head to the side. “You stood up to me.”
Rachel shook her head, denying his words. “I can’t do this again. Not again.” Even as she said it, she knew she had no choice. What was she going to do, go back to the bar and wait for David to arrive?
“I’ll give you my number. If you get into trouble, you call me from a payphone.”
So that was it. She could feel the loneliness descending already. She didn’t need to be in a bar in the backwoods of West Virginia to feel isolated from the world. All it took was rejection. When their breakfast arrived, she could barely eat anything. Her earlier bragging about her huge appetite was forgotten, buried deep beneath her apprehension. Murphy seemed unaffected, scooping the food onto his fork, shoveling it in like he hadn’t eaten for weeks. He might even have let out a little moan.
“I need the bathroom.” She stood up suddenly, pulling her body away from the table. Her shoes slid as she made her way awkwardly across the tiled floor, heading for the door marked “Dames.”
She wasn’t going to cry. She was going to splash her face with cold water, then look herself in the eye and think about where she could go. The country was her oyster; she could head for California and some winter sun, or maybe south to Arizona and enjoy some desert time. She guessed it depended upon what truck drivers she could sweet talk and any job she could find. She dried her face with a paper towel, staring at herself in the mirror, wondering how she’d ended up back at square one, yet again.
By the time she walked back to the table, she’d calmed down. Her face was dry and determined, her shoulders square and strong. Being pieced-together, at least on the outside, lent her a certain level of bravery, one she’d need if she was going to do this alone.
“I need my bag. I’m going to head off.” Rachel barely looked at Murphy as she spoke. She didn’t think she could sit next to him any longer. False hope was only going to hurt her more.
“Let me drop you off somewhere. I can give you money for a bus ticket.”
She shook her head fast. “I’ll take my chances.” Spinning on her heels, she started to walk to the door, glancing back to check he was following.
Murphy stood up, reaching in his pocket and throwing some bills on the table, then hurried to catch up with her. “I’m not leaving you with no money, Rachel.” He grabbed her hand and stuffed some notes into her palm. “Just take it.”
Her fingers curled around the paper; she needed to be sensible here. Trying to get across the country with only five dollars to her name was the height of foolishness. “I’ll pay you back.”
Murphy shrugged. “Whatever you want. Let me drop you off on the highway at least.”
Rachel shook her head. “A truck’s sure to pass here sooner or later.”
“It’s fucking freezing out here, Rachel.” He sounded angry. “I’m not leaving you here.”
Now she was riled, too. “But you are. You’re fucking leaving me somewhere, and I didn’t get a say about that. So I’m taking control and telling you I’m waiting here.” Her cheeks pinked with fury. “Give me my bag, and we can say goodbye.”
A car pulled into the lot, an old couple staring at them through the windshield as they continued to argue.
“If you catch hypothermia …” His warning trailed off.
“You’ll what? Kill me? Don’t make me laugh.” She walked around his SUV to get her case. Opening the hatch, she pulled her bag out and placed it on the gritted concrete. “You seem to forget that I’ve done this before.”
Despite his height, Murphy seemed smaller somehow, like her words had brought him down. He sighed hard, running a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. “At least take my number.” He walked around to the side, pulling out a pad from the pocket of his front door and scribbled digits on the paper. Folding it up, he slid it into her jean pocket. His fingers warmed her skin through the denim.