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“It’ll be okay,” I whisper to myself. The mantra is a familiar one. It’s a simple statement I repeated so many times after my parents passed away. When I missed them late at night. When I struggled through college exams. When I stressed about my interviews to get my teaching gig.
It’ll be okay. I said it so often I’m not sure what the hell okay is supposed to mean anymore. It’s a self-given platitude. Empty words that sound good, but deep down, I never know if it’s true.
I’m far from okay right now. I stare up at the window to my old apartment and take inventory of all the ways I’m not okay. I’m heartbroken. My dreams are crushed. My job is gone.
Beyond this trip to see Lauren at the bed-and-breakfast, I have no clue what I’ll do next. The only brave thing I can cling to is that something else has to be waiting for me somewhere. If Lauren could escape her terrible situation and come across something great, I can too.
I lower my gaze to my vehicle. “So long as my car can make it outside the state.”
The trusty compact car pulls off that feat and then some. Over a long, two-day drive, I leave my life in California behind and journey to Colorado. It’s making weird noises by the time I near Breckenridge, but I am not stopping until I reach the bed-and-breakfast. If I stop and try to investigate my car’s stamina, I’m afraid it’ll punk out, and I’ll be stuck before I get there. I don’t want to inconvenience Lauren or Caleb. In the few days since I last saw her—running away from her wedding—I’m sure she and Caleb have been busy making up for lost time. They deserve it. Witnessing Lauren’s heartache at losing a chance with that man had hurt my heart too. I hate to see anyone wounded in the name of love.
“I’m not calling for help.” I’m sure that talking to myself isn’t a good sign, but recognizing that I’m speaking to my car like it’s not an animated thing isn’t any better.
“All I need to do is get there.” Then I can settle in and not worry about taxing my wuss of a car to go anywhere. I planned to stay for four or five weeks. I haven’t discussed any of this with my best friend, but I’m sure she won’t object. When she mentioned the place needed some help and TLC, and that she accepted a job as a groundskeeper there, the idea took root in my mind.
Why not vacation and help out? I could pitch in on projects and spend time with her. It sounded like a win-win. Of course, I’ll need to explain how I don’t need to return to the school on time, but that’s a conversation for later.
“I’ve gotta find it, first.”
I check the navigation again at a red light in the small town adjacent to Breckenridge. It’s cute. So different from LA. I hope I can check it out later. Right now, I narrow my eyes at the screen and realize that turning onto…
“Meadow Lane?” I read aloud the street sign that’s almost faded to nothing.
According to the map, that’ll take me up to the B&B. I sigh and turn my blinker on just as a fancy truck cuts around me and speeds past, making the turn with a roar of its engine.
I gape at the jerk. “You impatient ass,” I growl as I follow it up the road.
He cut me off so swiftly, he almost hit me! And a collision would be the very end of my car. Frustration fills me, and even though I know it’s not rational, I speed up to go up the road after him. Not much is rational right now as I grieve all that I’ve left behind.
The truck is shiny and new and big. It’s obnoxious, and I smirk at it, hoping the driver can see my expression through the rearview mirror. It eats up distance easily, climbing the rough mountain road with the grumbling, steady noise of a large engine. My car strains to handle it. The potholes and cracks jolt the tiny frame and amplify that weird rattling squeal that comes and goes.
When we near a curve, and he slows to avoid scraping the truck against an overgrown brush, I smile and pass him, small enough to cut him off.
Once I’m ahead of him though, he guns his engine and tries to pass me again.
“Oh, hell no.” I’m not prone to road rage. Yeah, I come from LA, but this guy is just asking for it! I’m fed up with obnoxious jerks, and I won’t let him pass me. I let the urgency to speed away from this jerk take over me, and that’s the mistake that costs me. I miss a curve and swerve. My car can’t take the quick maneuvers, and within a harried, panic-filled moment, it skids off the neglected pavement and stops on the side of the road. I braked so hard that the iffy lock on my trunk snaps. So much for those old bungee cords keeping it down.
Growling, annoyed with myself, I step out to shut the faulty trunk.
The other driver doesn’t stop. He speeds by as I get out of my car, and as he passes, his big, ol’ tires streak through a puddle. Muddy water splashes up at me, stunning me.
I freeze with my arms out like a scarecrow. Brown goop plops off my pants, and I gawk at the ruin of my favorite jeans.
“You asshole!” I yell it up the road, flipping him off.
He doesn’t stop, and a few seconds later, the fancy truck is gone, further up the long, winding mountain road. I’m left here dripping and muddied, with nothing but anger to keep me company.
This is just my damn luck!
I grit my teeth and grab an old spare blanket from the trunk to wipe myself off. Then I use two other old bungee cords, as the other one has snapped and broken, to secure my trunk again. I’ve had this car since college, a clunker I could barely afford then. It had to have suffered a rear-end accident to never have a functioning trunk, but I can’t care about that right now. After that rude driver, I’m pushed to my limits. I only want to get there and not drive anywhere in any car. Driving for two days would put anyone in a bad mood.
Muddy and mad, I get back in the driver’s seat and dare my car to break down.
“I have to be close.”
It turns out I am.
Another moment later, I pull up at the address Lauren gave me. A tall, large farmhouse stands there. It’s painted a bright, cheery yellow. It should make me smile.
