Safe Haven

Snow flurries swirled as Katie stood at the intersection, just outside a diner. In the distance, she saw Super Shuttle's blue van round the corner and her heart pounded in her chest. Just then, she heard the cell phone ring.

She paled. Cars roared past her, their tires loud as they rolled through the slush. In the distance, the van changed lanes, angling toward her side of the road. She had to answer; there was no choice but to answer. But the van was coming and it was noisy on the street. If she answered now, he would know she was outside. He would know she'd left him.

Her phone rang a third time. The blue van stopped at a red light. One block away.

She turned around, walking into the diner, the sounds muffled but still noticeable--a symphony of plates clanking and people talking; directly ahead was the hostess stand, where a man was asking for a table. She felt sick to her stomach. She cupped the phone and faced the window, praying that he couldn't hear the commotion behind her. Her legs went wobbly as she pressed the button and answered.

"What took you so long to answer?" he demanded.

"I was in the shower," she said. "What's going on?"

"I'm about ten minutes out," he said. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," she said.

He hesitated. "You sound kind of funny," he said. "Is something wrong with the phone?"

Up the street, the signal light turned green. The Super Shuttle van's turn signal indicated that it was pulling over. She prayed that it would wait. Behind her, people in the diner had gone surprisingly quiet.

"I'm not sure. But you sound fine," she said. "It's probably bad service where you are. How's the drive?"

"Not too bad once I got out of the city. But it's still icy in places."

"That doesn't sound good. Be careful."

"I'm fine," he said.

"I know," she said. The van was pulling over to the curb, the driver craning his neck, looking for her. "I hate to do this, but can you call me in a few minutes? I still have conditioner in my hair and I want to rinse it out."

"Yeah," he grumbled. "Okay. I'll call you in a bit."

"I love you," she said.

"Love you, too."

She let him hang up before she pressed the button on her phone. Then she walked out of the diner and hurried to the van.

At the bus terminal, she bought a ticket to Philadelphia, hating the way the man who sold her the ticket kept trying to talk to her.

Rather than waiting at the terminal, she went across the street to have breakfast. Money for the shuttle and the bus ticket had taken more than half of the savings she'd collected during the year, but she was hungry and she ordered pancakes and sausage and milk. At the booth, someone had left a newspaper and she forced herself to read it. Kevin called her while she was eating and when he told her again that the phone sounded funny, she suggested that it was the storm.

Twenty minutes later, she got on the bus. An elderly woman motioned to her bulge as she moved down the aisle.

"How much longer?" the woman asked.

"Another month."

"First one?"

"Yes," she answered, but her mouth was so dry it was hard to keep talking. She started down the aisle again and took a seat toward the rear. People sat in the seats in front of and behind her. Across the aisle was a young couple. Teenagers, draped over each other, both of them listening to music. Their heads bobbed up and down.

She stared out the window as the bus pulled away from the station, feeling as if she were dreaming. On the highway, Boston began to recede into the distance, gray and cold. Her lower back ached as the bus rolled forward, miles from home. Snow continued to fall and cars whipped up slush as they passed the bus.

She wished she could talk to someone. She wanted to tell them that she was running away because her husband beat her and that she couldn't call the police because he was the police. She wanted to tell them that she didn't have much money and she could never use her real name again. If she did, he would find her and bring her home and beat her again, only this time he might not stop. She wanted to tell them that she was terrified because she didn't know where she was going to sleep tonight or how she was going to eat when the money ran out.

She could feel cold air against the window as towns drifted past. Traffic on the highway thinned and then the roads became crowded again. She didn't know what she was going to do. All her plans had stopped at the bus and there was no one to call for help. She was alone and had nothing but the things she carried with her.

An hour from Philadelphia, her cell phone rang again. She cupped the phone and talked to him. Before he hung up, he promised to call her before he went to bed.

She arrived in Philadelphia in the late afternoon. It was cold, but not snowy. Passengers got off the bus and she hung back, waiting for all of them to leave. In the restroom, she removed the duffel bag and then went into the waiting room and took a seat on a bench. Her stomach was growling and she sliced off a little cheese and ate it with crackers. She knew she had to make it last, though, so she put the rest of it away, even though she was still hungry. Finally, after buying a map of the city, she stepped outside.

The terminal wasn't located in a bad part of town; she saw the convention center and Trocadero Theater, which made her feel safe, but it also meant she could never afford a hotel room in the area. The map indicated that she was close to Chinatown, and for lack of a better plan she headed in that direction.

Three hours later, she'd finally found a place to sleep. It was dingy and reeked of smoke, and her room was barely large enough for the small bed that had been crammed inside. There was no lamp; instead, a single bulb protruded from the ceiling and the communal bathroom was down the hall. The walls were gray and water stained and the window had bars. From the rooms on either side of her, she could hear people talking in a language she couldn't understand. Still, it was all she could afford. She had enough money to stay three nights, four if she could somehow survive on the little food she'd brought from home.

She sat on the edge of the bed, trembling, afraid of this place, afraid of the future, her mind whirling. She had to pee but she didn't want to leave the room. She tried to tell herself that it was an adventure and everything would be okay. As crazy as it sounded, she found herself wondering if she'd made a mistake by leaving; she tried not to think about her kitchen and bedroom and all the things she'd left behind. She knew she could buy a ticket back to Boston and get home before Kevin even realized she was gone. But her hair was short and dark and there was no way she could explain that.

Outside, the sun was down but streetlights shone through the dirty window. She heard horns honking and she looked out. At the street level, all the signs were in Chinese and some businesses were still open. She could hear conversations rising in the darkness and there were plastic bags filled with garbage piled near the street. She was in an unfamiliar city, a city filled with strangers. She couldn't do this, she thought. She wasn't strong enough. In three days, she'd have no place to stay unless she could find a job. If she sold her jewelry, she might buy herself another day, but then what?

She was so tired and her back throbbed. She lay down on the bed and drifted off to sleep almost immediately. Kevin called later, the bleating of the cell phone waking her up. It took everything she had to keep her voice steady, to betray nothing, but she sounded as tired as she felt and she knew that Kevin believed that she was in their bed. When he hung up, she fell asleep again within minutes.

In the morning, she could hear people walking down the hall, heading for the bathroom. Two Chinese women stood at the sinks and there was green mold in the grout and wet toilet paper on the floor. The door to the stall wouldn't lock and she had to hold it closed with her hand.

In the room, she had cheese and crackers for breakfast. She wanted to shower but she realized she'd forgotten to pack shampoo and soap, so there wasn't much point. She changed her clothes and brushed her teeth and hair. She repacked the duffel bag, unwilling to leave it in the room while she w

asn't there, and slung the strap over her shoulder and walked down the steps. The same clerk who'd given her the key was at the desk and she wondered whether he ever left this place. She paid for another night and asked him to hold her room.

Outside, the sky was blue and the streets were dry. She realized the pain in her back had all but vanished. It was cold but not as cold as Boston, and despite her fears she found herself smiling. She'd done it, she reminded herself. She'd escaped and Kevin was hundreds of miles away and didn't know where she was. Didn't even know she'd left yet. He would call a couple more times, then she'd throw away the cell phone and never speak with him again.

She stood straighter and breathed in the crisp air. The day felt almost new, with endless possibilities. Today, she told herself, she was going to find a job. Today, she decided, she was going to start living the rest of her life.

She had run away twice before and she wanted to think she'd learned from her mistakes. The first time was a little less than a year after she was married, after he'd beaten her while she was cowering in the corner of the bedroom. The bills had come in and he was angry with her because she'd turned up the thermostat to make the house warmer. When he'd finally stopped, he'd grabbed his keys and headed out to buy more liquor. Without thinking, she'd grabbed her jacket and left the house, limping down the road. Hours later, with sleet coming down and nowhere to go, she'd called him and he went to pick her up.

The next time she'd gotten as far as Atlantic City before he found her. She'd taken money from his wallet and purchased a ticket on the bus, but he'd found her within an hour of her arrival. He'd driven his car at breakneck speed, knowing she would run to the only place where she might still find friends. He'd handcuffed her in the backseat of the car on the drive back. He stopped once, pulling the car over to the side of a closed office building, and beat her; later that night, the gun came out.

After that, he'd made it harder to leave. He usually kept the money locked away and started tracking her whereabouts obsessively. She knew that he would go to extraordinary lengths to find her. As crazy as he was, he was persistent and diligent and his instincts were usually right. He would find out where she'd gone, she knew; he would come to Philadelphia to find her. She had a head start, that was all, but with no extra money to start over somewhere else, all she could do was watch for him over her shoulder for the time being. Her time in Philadelphia was limited.

She found a job as a cocktail waitress on her third day in town. She made up a name and social security number. Eventually, it would be checked, but she'd be long gone by then. She found another room to rent on the far side of Chinatown. She worked for two weeks, accumulated some tip money while searching for and finding another job, and quit without bothering to pick up her paycheck. There was no point; without identification, she wouldn't be able to cash it. She worked another three weeks at a small diner and eventually moved out of Chinatown to a run-down motel that rented by the week. Although it was in a seedier section of town, the room was more expensive, but she had her own shower and bathroom and it was worth it, if only to have some privacy and a place to leave her things. She'd saved a few hundred dollars, more than she had when she'd left Dorchester, but not enough to start over. Again, she left before picking up her paycheck, without even going back to quit. She found yet another job at yet another diner a few days later. In the new job, she told the manager her name was Erica.

The constant job changing and moves had kept her vigilant, and it was there, only four days after she started, that she'd rounded the corner on her way to work and saw a car that seemed somehow out of place. She stopped.

Even now, she wasn't sure how she'd realized it, other than the fact that it was shiny enough to reflect the early morning light. As she stared at the car, she noticed movement in the driver's seat. The engine wasn't running and it struck her as odd that someone would be sitting in an unheated car on a cold morning. The only people, she knew, who did that were those who were waiting for someone.

Or watching for someone.

Kevin.

She knew it was him, knew it with a certainty that surprised her, and she backed around the corner, the way she'd come, praying that he hadn't glanced in the rearview mirror. Praying he hadn't seen her. As soon as the car was out of sight, she began to run back toward the motel, her heart hammering. She hadn't run so fast in years, but all the walking she'd been doing had strengthened her legs and she moved quickly. One block. Two. Three. She looked constantly over her shoulder but Kevin didn't follow.

No matter. He knew she was here. He knew where she worked. He would know if she didn't show up. Within hours, he would find out where she was staying.

In her room, she threw her things into the duffel bag and was out the door within minutes. She started toward the bus station. It would take forever, though. An hour, maybe more, to walk there, and she didn't have the time. That would be the first place he went when he realized she wasn't there. Turning around, she went back into the motel and had the clerk call her a cab. It arrived ten minutes later. The longest ten minutes of her life.

At the bus station, she frantically searched the schedule and selected a bus to New York. It was scheduled to leave in half an hour. She hid in the women's restroom until it was time to board. When she got on the bus she lowered herself into a seat. It didn't take long to get to New York. Again, she scanned the schedules and bought a ticket that would take her as far as Omaha.

In the evening, she got off the bus somewhere in Ohio. She slept in the station, and the next morning she found her way to a truck stop. There she met a man who was delivering materials to Wilmington, North Carolina.

A few days later, after selling her jewelry, she wandered into Southport and found the cottage. After she paid the first month's rent, there was no money left to buy food.

23

It was mid-June and Katie was leaving Ivan's after finishing up a busy dinner shift when she spotted a familiar figure standing near the exit.

"Hey there." Jo waved from beneath the lamppost where Katie had locked up her bike.

"What are you doing here?" Katie asked, leaning in to give her friend a hug. She'd never run into Jo in town before, and seeing her out of context felt strange for some reason.

"I came to see you. Where've you been, stranger?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"I've been around enough to know you've been seeing Alex for a few weeks." Jo winked. "But as a friend, I've never been one to impose. I figured you two needed some time alone."

Katie blushed despite herself. "How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't. But your lights weren't on at the house and I took a chance." Jo shrugged. She motioned over her shoulder. "Are you doing anything? Do you want to grab a drink before you head home?" When she saw Katie's hesitation, she went on. "I know it's late. One drink, I promise. Then I'll let you go to bed."

"One drink," Katie agreed.

A few minutes later, they stepped inside the pub, a local favorite paneled in dark wood scarred with decades of use, with a long mirror behind the bar. It was quiet tonight; only a few tables were occupied and the two women took a seat at a corner table in the back. Since there didn't seem to be table service, Katie ordered two glasses of wine at the bar and brought them back to the table.

"Thanks," Jo said, taking her glass. "Next time, it's on me." She leaned back. "So you and Alex, huh?"

"Is that really what you wanted to talk to me about?" Katie asked.

"Well, since my own love life is in the dumps, I have to live vicariously through you. It seems to be going well, though. He was over there... what? Two or three times last week? And the same thing the week before that?"

Actually more, Katie thought. "Something like that."

Jo twisted the stem of her wineglass. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh what?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd think it was getting serious." She raised an eyebrow.

"We're still getting to know each oth

er," Katie offered, not sure where Jo was going with this line of questioning.

"That's how every relationship starts. He likes you, you like him. Then you both go from there."

"Is this why you came down?" Katie tried not to sound exasperated. "To hear all the details?"

"Not all of them. Just the juicy ones."

Katie rolled her eyes. "How about we talk about your love life instead?"

"Why? Are you in the mood to be depressed?"

"When was the last time you went on a date?"

"A good date? Or just a date-date?"

"A good date."

Jo hesitated. "I'd have to say that it's been at least a couple of years."

"What happened?"

Jo dipped a finger in her wine, then ran it around the rim of her glass, making it hum. Finally, she looked up. "A good man is hard to find," she said wistfully. "Not everyone is as lucky as you are."

Katie didn't know quite how to respond to that, so instead she touched Jo's hand. "What's really going on?" she asked gently. "Why did you want to talk to me?"

Jo looked around the empty bar as if trying to draw inspiration from her surroundings. "Do you ever sit back and wonder what it all means? Whether this is it or if there's something greater out there? Or if you were meant for something better?"

"I think everyone does," Katie answered, her curiosity growing.

"When I was a girl, I used to make believe that I was a princess. One of the good ones, I mean. Someone who always does the right thing and has the power to make people's lives better so that, in the end, they live happily ever after."

Katie nodded. She could remember doing the same thing, but she still wasn't sure where Jo was going so she stayed quiet.

"I think that's why I do what I do now. When I started, I just wanted to help. I'd see people who were struggling with the loss of someone they loved--a parent, a child, a friend--and my heart just overflowed with sympathy. I tried to do everything in my power to make things better for them. But as time passed, I came to realize that there was only so much I could do myself. That in the end, people who are grieving have to want to move on--that first step, that motivating spark, has to come from within them. And when it does, it opens the door to the unexpected."