Page 1 of Mine to Worship

Chapter 1

Ellia

“One ticket to Salt Lake City, please.”

The woman behind the glass ticket booth smiles at me. I pay, offering a small smile in return. On the bench at the bus station, I hug my duffel bag. My legs bounce up and down on the concrete, the clock is ticking too slow. My mind spins with all that happened, and another tear rolls down my cheek.

The hulking bus screeches to a stop, and the doors slide open. I get up on my feet and board the bus, taking a seat near a window. With every mile that stretches behind me, my heart aches more. But staying would leave nothing of me.

Love is blind to right and wrong, and once the heart is conquered, it only bows to its conqueror.

I wrap my arms around myself, wondering if he is to blame for what happened when I asked for it. Kian warned me repeatedly, yet I still fell for him. My love for him was my downfall.

My fault. Mine.

“Here, dearie.”

I tilt my head and an elderly woman sitting next to me offers me a tissue. I thank her and take it.

“Love should be easy, but it’s not,” she tells me.

I clutch the tissue and she pats my hand. Her eyes rest on my wedding ring.

“You’re married.”

“I am.” I ball my hand into a fist, the ring digging into my skin. Will I ever breathe again without pain stomping on my chest? My eyelids droop with the weight of my sorrow and I fall into a dreamless slumber.

A bump in the road shakes me awake. The old lady smiles at me fondly, then searches in her purse and offers me an apple.

It’s hard to say no to someone who is willing to give so much grandmotherly care. I bite into the juicy, sweet red fruit.

“It’s from my garden,” she informs me. “My Ben and I would take care of it. We had many apple trees, but he loved this kind in particular.” Nostalgia sets in her washed-with-age eyes.

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“Fifty years, some would say it was enough, but after so much time with one person, his absence leaves me shaky on my feet.” Her lips tug into a small smile. “You’re a sweet girl. Where are you going?”

“To see my aunt.”

“Running away is useless.” She leans into me and points at my chest. “Because you take yourself with you.”

“What gave me away?” I ask dejected and my hands drop in my lap.

“Your feet may be facing forward, but your neck stretches in the direction you left,” she says, her voice laced with wisdom.

“It’s complicated.” I rest my cheek against the window, every intake of breath a reminder of loss.

“There is no recipe for life, thank God, it would be boring even with all the spices in the world,” she says and a small smile slips from my lips.

I breathe in and out –– the automated process calms my nerves. I will survive the pain and come out the other end stronger. My eyes focus on the wedding band on my finger, sparkling in the desert’s sun, seared into my skin like a brand.

The bus begins to slow, and the old lady stands.

We say goodbye, and my traveling companion gets off the bus. She waves at me from the street, and I mouth a ‘thank you’.

My head rests on the window, and the rocky landscape changes to one that comes alive with green.

After a few more hours, the bus halts at my stop. With the duffel bag draped over my shoulder, I get out, and another sigh rocks my body. Purples and dark blue color the sky.

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