Page 4 of Alive and Wells

Cecily

Myhandsslamintothe steering wheel with a banshee scream, and I spin it to make an illegal U-turn in the middle of a dead intersection an hour from home. I’ll go back and try again another day. I’m confident KJ will be a doting husband for at least a week after tonight. I can last another week. And then I’ll have a new phone again. It’ll be easier next time. I’ll actually do it next time.

Fuck no.

My knuckles grip the wheel so heatedly they turn white. I slow and wait for an oncoming vehicle to pass. He had a gun. A gun.Substituting a scream, I emit a horrendous, deranged laugh and make another U-turn less than a block from the initial intersection. Whether or not he would actually kill me is anyone’s guess, but I don’t want to risk calling his bluff.

Without direction, I’ll drive North because a place named Wells Canyon has to be North, right? It certainly sounds like it would be a Northern British Columbia town. Anyway, I’m not far from Vancouver now. Heading South would bring me to the United States border, West would land me in the ocean.

North, it is.

Thewhoop whoopof a police car siren sounds directly behind me, pulling me away from my spiralling thoughts. I drift to the roadside and tears, which haven’t so much as pricked at my eyes since I left, finally make an appearance.

“Evening, miss. Do you know why I pulled you over?”

I nod, gasping for air. “Yeah—yes, I know. I did a U-turn and I’m just lost and…”

“TwoU-turns. Are you aware they’re illegal?”

“I am.” With a sniffle, I wipe the tear hanging from the tip of my nose.

“You said you’re lost? Where are you trying to go and where did you come from?”

“I’m supposed to be going to see a friend in Wells Canyon, but I broke my phone and, without it, I don’t know which direction to head.”

A deep crease folds between his eyebrows as he watches me suspiciously. “Right. You’re going to visit your friend at two o’clock in the morning? In a town five hours away. I need to see some ID, please. Where do you live?”

As I dig out my wallet, he shines his flashlight into my backseat, where the few items I managed to throw in the car are strewn.

“6207 Mountainview Terrace. Just…um… back in Kerrisdale. I’m not actually going to visit—I’m staying there. Sorry. My husband and I got into a fight, and I left.”

There’s a explicit shift in his demeanour.Am I that transparent?

“To be clear, are you visiting or are you staying there?”

“Staying… yeah, I’m staying there.” I gnaw the inside of my cheek.

“That highway can be a bit tricky to drive at night. Are you safe to go home and head to your friend’s house tomorrow?”

Fuck.Either I lie and pray he doesn’t insist on following me home, or I tell the truth and pray he doesn’t push it further.

I let out a shaky breath. “No, I’m not.”

“Are you injured?” he asks, and I shake my head. “What kind of danger are you in? There are a lot of resources available. I can give you some numbers to—”

I interrupt. “Officer, I’ll be fine as soon as I can get to my friend’s house. Thank you for the offer, though.”

He hesitates for a moment. “Okay. I’m going to give you a verbal warning not to make any more illegal maneuvers—it doesn’t matter how quiet the roads are, got it? Wells Canyon is North.”I knew it.Pulling out a notepad from his chest pocket, he begins furiously scribbling. “I’m writing the directions down for you. Once you get to the highway it should be pretty straightforward. Drive safe.”

He hands over my ID and the torn note paper, then saunters back to his car. Afraid he might change his mind, I pull away without looking back and follow his directions, searching for the highway. My route is interrupted by the angelic glow of 7-11, stopping me in my tracks. Under the fluorescent buzz, I withdraw five-hundred dollars from our bank account because, honestly, it’s the bare minimum KJ owes me. Armed with a Red Bull, an Oh Henry! bar, and a packet of ketchup chips, I feel adequately prepared for a road trip into the unknown. Brimming with confidence I haven’t had in years, I’m en route to my fresh start.

One hundred and twenty. Eighty-five. Sixty. My gas light illuminates the dark car, mocking me. All my self-assurance seems to have disappeared alongside the last chip crumbs, which I dumped haphazardly into my mouth thirty kilometres ago. Evidently, I should’ve filled up with more than junk food at the 7-11. Forty. Twenty. A vibrant orange and green gas station sign breaks up the dismal night sky, and I pull up to a pump in the nick of time. Relief courses through my veins at not needing to add hitch-hiking to the list of dangerous acts I’m involved in tonight.

An old phone booth with broken-out glass sits on the property’s border. I’m doubtful it works—who even uses pay phones anymore? But I’d rather not show up in Wells Canyon without at least attempting to let Beryl know I’m coming, so I sift through my car, gathering all the loose change I can.

Trying to touch the grimy phone the least amount possible, I lift it to my ear with two fingers.A dial tone.Sucking in a breath through my teeth, I punch in her number. Beryl answers on the third ring with a sleepy voice.

“Beryl? Hi, sorry to wake you up. It’s Cecily.”

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