Getaway Girl (Girl 1)

“Are you dating Captain Du Pont? Have you seen him at all?”

“Where is your mother now, Miss Potts?”

The wind is knocked out of me, but I rally. “If you find out, let me know,” I say on a humorless laugh, making another move to get around the group. “Let me pass.”

“You’re not close to Miss Clemons. Why were you at the wedding?” One of them persists, pushing a microphone in front of my face. “Were you there for Captain Du Pont?”

Yes, I just didn’t know it at the time.

Feeling a lot like I did in my dream last night—naked and exposed—I pause with my hand on the market door. “Look, I’m not dating anyone, but I’m partial to blonds with strong chins and dimples. I don’t know where my mother is, and I went to the wedding because I was in the neighborhood.” I blow a kiss at the camera. “More importantly, we’re having a flash sale on ornaments today at Jingle Balls. Buy one, get one half off. And I’m taking fall appointments for commercial and residential decoration services, starting with Halloween and ending with Christmas.” I rattle off my newly designed website, give a pinky wave and leave the reporters with their jaws on the floor.

As soon as I’m out of their line of vision—and thank God they don’t follow me into the market—I drop down and stick my head in between my knees, breathing like a racehorse.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. I just started a business.” My cell phone rings in my purse and I fish it out with a trembling hand, already knowing who it is. “Hey.”

Elijah’s exhale blows down the line. “I didn’t catch you in time.”

“Nope.”

“How bad was it?”

Thankfully, the market isn’t open yet, because I fall into a cross-legged position, right in the center of the main aisle. “Eh.”

“Eh?”

“I didn’t answer their questions. But they asked about my mother.” I tilt my head back and focus on the ceiling. “That sucked a little.”

A pause. “You haven’t talked to me very much about her.”

“There’s nothing to say. She left when I was in first grade.”

Elijah curses under his breath. “I’m sorry. Didn’t realize you were so young.”

I swallow. “I had my grandmother. That’s more than some kids have.” Refusing to wallow in something that happened a decade ago, I push to my feet and head down the aisle toward my booth, where it’s nestled in between a hot sauce vendor and a fancy hat saleswoman. “In other news, I just plugged the expanded business on the air. Website and everything. So I guess there’s no turning back now.”

“No shit?” His boom-crack of laughter makes me smile. “You found a way to make them work for you. That’s my Goose.”

My heart lifts up like a balloon, lodging in my throat. “Yeah.” I turn into Jingle Balls and drop my purse on the closest table. “I don’t think…I probably wouldn’t have done that unless you’d told me I could do it.”

Did I just admit that out loud, sounding like a starry-eyed schoolgirl? I can almost feel his breath against my ear. Slow and steady. “Aw, sugar. Just telling the truth.”

Everything about the confession and the moment makes me way too vulnerable, so I rush to put it behind us. “Also, we might have to postpone our dinners for a while. I have a feeling a lot of blond dudes with dimples are going to be knocking on my door.”

“What?”

The jealousy I think I hear in his voice is definitely just wishful thinking. “Bye, Captain.”

“Hold on, now. Wait. What did you mean—”

“Smooches and butt squeezes. Byeeeee.”

“Addison, I’m coming over tonight.”

This is fun. “I’ll probably be there.”

“Don’t give me a probably.”

“Do you know anything about the cereal that keeps appearing in my cabinet?”

“I have to go,” Elijah says, clearing his throat. “See you tonight.”

When he disconnects, I frown down at the phone. “Huh. That was weird.”

*

I thought death would be more dramatic. Storm waters rising up and carrying me off or ex-husbands surrounding my bed, demanding to know where I buried the gold. One thing I did not expect was to perish surrounded by blinking Christmas lights and tourists. But here I am. I am most definitely meeting my maker within the hour.

There’s a layer of clammy sweat under my clothes, I’m short of breath and I can’t seem to focus. Everything is dull, moving in a confusing kaleidoscope. Sick. Common sense tells me I’m sick, probably with the flu, but I don’t have the energy to do anything about it. My head tilts right and I stumble, ramming into a display of glass shepherd figurines.

“Miss, are you okay?”

“Yes, thank you.” My words boom in my skull, rattling everything. “Ow.”

“I’m a nurse, miss.” Hands guide me into my folding metal chair. “You’re not well. Is there someone I can call for you?”