Page 12 of Rise
7
Natalia
My legsand arms both want the same thing.
They want to move.
To run.
And it’s giving me one hell of a case of jitters. It’s so bad that the plastic bag rustles, crackles and crunches more loudly between my trembling fingers, even thoughmy arms are hanging numbly at my sides. There’s a part of me that’s sure that my reaction is the result of what I’ve been through these past few weeks. Can anyone really blame me for mistrusting everyone who crosses my path? The thing is, if I’m going to survive long enough to make it out of this town and far enough away to be safe, I have to find a way to re-hone my instincts. I don’t have to trustanyone, but fuck, I’m going to need to. There’s no way I can go through the next few days, few weeks, or months, all by myself.
l need to have a fairly decent sense of people’s intentions.
I force myself to take a breath and to calm the fuck down. Now is as good a time as any to begin working on my gut instinct. A quick scan down the woman’s body and I start to relax as I processall the information I’ve noticed about her.
First, she’s married. The diamond and yellow gold wedding ring she wears is tight on her ring finger. I doubt she’s taken it off in a while. She’s also likely to be someone’s mom, which is pretty clear from the business card sized family photo keyring accessory dangling from her car keys, a photo with her at the center of it. Though, I can’t makeheads or tails of the pewter colored old-style handgun souvenir hanging beside it. She must be pro-gun use. Which makes sense. I can’t recall whether I learned this back in one of my American history classes in high school or read it online somewhere, but if my memory is correct, Colorado is not one of the open carry states.
The French manicure on her nails and on the four toes that arevisible through the slip-on leather sandals she’s wearing is less than a week old, and I know that because the polish still gleams as though it was just done. There are chips on a few of her fingernails and a couple of tiny red scratches on the skin before the first joint of a couple of fingers, but her pedicure is still perfect, leading me to believe she must work with her hands in some way. I remembermy nail chipping and getting mini scratches like that while I helped Nonna move some of her lighter furniture pieces around her room earlier in the year. She liked to rearrange her room every few months, just because. And if her bedroom door was open while she did it, I’d hear the dragging sounds through the wall and would always hurry to her side to help.
Then there’s the woman’s hair.It’s pulled up into a high ponytail, but I can tell from the neat tips that she makes it to her hairdresser regularly to have it cut and styled.
I make a snap judgment about who she is.
A woman with a family and possibly her own business. Or a family-run business, given that it’s the middle of the day on a weekday.
She’s not involved, where it relates to my abduction.
Innocent.
Potentially trustworthy, at least on the most basic human level.
My nerves dial back a notch and I feel a little more satisfied with my observation skills. Even if it turns out that I’m wrong about this woman, the split-second exercise reminds me that I have the ability to set aside the intense trauma of my recent kidnapping ordeal for a few minutes at a time. Long enoughto not be a terrified, jumpy little girl twenty-four-seven.
The woman doesn’t notice me right away, and before I can pivot around or adjust my path to avoid her, she walks right into me without looking.
“Aww shit!” she shouts, clearly without thinking, because she immediately covers her mouth almost as quickly as she said the mild curse word, her bright aquamarine eyes as wide assaucers. “Goodness, pardon my language, Miss. I didn’t see you there.”
“It’s no problem, Ma’am,” I tell her, and try to lift my lips into a smile. It’s really hard, but I manage to relax my face a little.
“It’s been such a crazy day,” she continues, speaking quickly in a tone that relaxes me further. “And I’m so behind as it is. My husband, Charlie must’ve sent me a dozen texts sinceI left him all by his lonesome to mind the store this morning.” She chuckles a little and raises one eyebrow. “You would think that after running a small motel, diner and general store for close to eighteen years he could survive a few hours without asking me where to find things and how to work the credit card machine. If he can hold his horses for another hour or so, I’ll finish the last ofthese deliveries. It’s like he plum forgot that I have yet another job tacked on to all the other work I already do, ever since our last daughter went off to college this fall. It’s not easy finding good staff in these small towns these days. It’s been weeks since we put up the help wanted sign in the store window, and we haven’t had any takers yet. Not one. I even had Charlie put up a poster atthe high school and on the bulletin board at the grocery store on Highway 35.”
I nod and smile as the woman prattles on about needing to finish the rest of her errands in spite of her husband being so dependent on her, confirming that my assessment of who she is and what she does for a living is pretty accurate. Spot on.
And an idea forms.
I need a roof over my head.
She owns a small motel.
I need more money to fund my new life.
She has a job opening.
I have no real experience.
She’s willing to hire a high school student.
The more she talks, the more positive I am that this woman is the solution to my current problem. At least temporarily.
