Page 29 of Reclaiming Adelaide

I turned my attention to the woman. “Where did she go,” I skimmed her nametag, “Wanda?”

“Bus twenty for Montreal.”

“The one that just left?”

She nodded.

I released the money on the counter, rewarding her for her defective morals, and walked away.

You won this round, Adelaide, but I’ll be there waiting for you.

I picked up a route pamphlet and tucked it into my car.

9

“OhGod,”Igrumbledas the bus bounced over the never-ending potholes in the road. My stomach roiled, and no matter how much my belly piqued from hunger, I couldn’t force myself to reach into my backpack and pull out the salted crackers.

If only I could sleep away the nausea. But Berat, the man beside me, droned on nonstop in an indecipherable accent about his experience in Fallujah during the Afghan war, drawing irritation to the tip of my tongue and unease down to my toes.

I thought Fallujah was in Iraq?

Couldn’t he let me sleep? Wasn’t there some bus etiquette or something—like don’t talk after ten?

We’d traveled for over two hours—my eyelids drooping as I stared at my reflection in the window with each passing street lamp until the driver made an announcement, and we came to a stop.

“We are taking a ten-minute restroom break. Please be back on the bus with your ticket stubs in hand. If you are not back in time, we will leave without you.”

Superb. I’d had to pee since before we left.

He opened the doors with a horrendous screech, signaling my ten-minute escape from war stories.

Berat stepped back, obliging me, and I took it with a hurried step, slipping my bag over my shoulder. Most stayed in their seats, their eyes closed, one or two snoring as I passed by.

Lucky bastards.

The pressure in my bladder pressed against my pubic bone with each step, making me grateful I’d worn sweats instead of the jean shorts I’d wanted.

“Going to the bathroom?” he asked as we stepped into the empty station, his cardamom cologne sticking to my clothes like a putrid skunk.

“Yes,” I said, drawing out the word with annoyance.

“Me too. Those bathrooms on the bus are dirtier than…”

“Listen,” I said, the words spewing out without a second thought. “Just leave me alone.”

My stomach flip-flopped as Berat’s brows furrowed together, his eyes turning icy. There were people around, and if he did anything stupid, there’d be witnesses.

I picked up the pace, eyes focused on the women’s bathroom. His booted footsteps echoed into the rafters a fair distance behind me. I hope he took the hint and left me alone.

Hell, if he found another seat for the next thirty-five hours, that’d be even better.

A light wood door appeared in a shallow cut-out along the wall, and I slunk inside, turning my gaze over my shoulder. He’d gone hopefully to the bathroom, as he said before.

The freshly cleaned bathroom wiped away some of the heebie-jeebies as I chose a stall and relieved myself, then washed my hands next to a woman with a crying baby.

I gave her a sympathetic smile and walked out, only for it to falter when I saw Berat standing with his foot propped up against the wall, a lighter flicking in his hand.

Why can’t he just go away?

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