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Chapter 1
Maisie
Exhaustion drags my eyelids down. I’m so tired. The increasingly angry cries of my six-month-old daughter accompany the bumping vibrations of my camper pulling off the highway into the rest stop.
I’m so close. So close to the resort town I plan to make our home for the next month.
And then we’ll be on the road again. Always moving. Always running.
Quit whining, Maisie. At least you’re not penniless and destitute.
My inner voice is a bitch sometimes.
I throw my camper in park and climb between the front seats to the back where my hungry, very pissed-off daughter is screaming her head off.
“Hey, pretty girl,” I coo, hoping the sound of my voice calms her enough that I can get her unlatched and both of us comfortable before she nurses. The cry she was mustering up cracks a little before dying down. Tired girly. She’s probably as sick of her car seat as I am of driving this rig.
It’s late. Very late. But a blowout diaper and her being fussy from teething set us behind schedule, so instead of being tucked into the temporary rental’s bed as I’d prefer to be, we’re still on our way.
Less than an hour until we get there — according to my GPS. Then I’m tucking us straight into bed and sleeping for as long as Audra will let me. Everything else can wait for tomorrow.
I yawn so hard my jaw cracks in protest at the stretch. My lower back is on fire from sitting in one spot all day. But I shove the discomfort to the back of my brain and focus on getting my girl unbuckled from her seat.
Patting her back gently, I settle onto the floor and lift my shirt, unclasping the shoulder strap of my nursing bra. Audra latches, her mouth pulling in greedy suckles as the dark eyes that match mine stare at me over my breast.
“There you go. Isn’t that better?” I ask gently, running my finger down her soft cheek. The warm weight of her in my arms is a constant comfort.
Luckily, she looks just like me. A mop of dark hair, it curls in some places and waves in others. The cute little button nose that scrunches when she’s mad. There’s not an ounce of Sean on her face.
Leaning my head back against the driver’s seat, I let my eyes drift shut.
God, I’m tired. Tired of the constant moving. The constant running. But there’s no end in sight. Not if I want to keep us safe.
I zone out and it’s not until Audra releases my nipple with a rumbling coo that I snap out of the light doze. Swapping sides, she happily latches to my other breast for the rest of her midnight snack. She ate a little bit of baby food at our last stop, so she should be fine after I change her diaper for the rest of our trip.
We’re somewhere in western Idaho. We drove through Washington almost all day before crossing the border. I know that my GPS will get us to the rental, but the lack of people at the rest stop is eerie. There are a few big rigs parked here, their drivers likely getting some shut eye before they continue their own journeys. I avoid night stops when I can, not only for safety but because the memories like to come out and torment in the dark.
My eyes feel like sandpaper as I blink through changing my girl’s diaper and then rocking her back to sleep. When she’s out, I give her a few more minutes to move into a deeper sleep before tucking her back in her seat and buckling her in.
Knowing I’ll never make it without some caffeine to tide me over, I grab one of the few energy drinks that I keep in the small fridge in here before climbing back into the driver seat.
Sometimes we stay in short-term rentals, sometimes campgrounds, or RV parks, but never more than one month in one place, and I never make friends. I can’t afford to get attached to someone or leave a trail behind. Not if I want to keep my daughter safe. Luckily, my own work as a website designer allows me to set my own schedule and work while being a nomad. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to find work in every city and town that I stop in. I managed to snag the last short-term rental in the area — probably because it’s coming up on tourist season — and cannot wait to have a home base, even as temporary as it will be.
The camper rig that I bought just outside of San Antonio makes the travel easier, and I needed to ditch my car. Buying something that would act as a home for my newborn and I when needed just made sense and is how I came to own the twenty-foot camping RV. There’s a full-sized bed in the back — that is not comfortable at all — and I have perfected the baby gear to space ratio math enough that Audra has everything she needs if the area we’re in doesn’t have a rental available. We don’t need much, and as long as my daughter is taken care of, I can go without.
She’s six months old, and she has already traveled more in her short life than most adults do.
I’ve been all across the continental US in the last fifteen months — since I found out I was pregnant with her — but it was never by design, this was never the plan.
Nothing like this was ever the plan for my life, but plans change and the little girl in the backseat that holds the entirety of my heart is what matters. Not my exhaustion. Not my loneliness. Not the part of me that hates being a victim or a statistic. Just Audra.
I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep her safe.
Twisting the key in the ignition, a heavy sigh gusts out of me as I pull us back onto the interstate.
Just a little bit longer and then I can sleep.
I glance at the GPS. Less than an hour until we reach our destination. The roads are wet, probably from a light sprinkle of rain, and glimmer when my headlights hit the water droplets. Grabbing my Rockstar energy drink in the cup holder, I take a swig of the caffeinated drink — the only one that I’ve had today so I’m well under the three hundred milligram limit for nursing — the carbonation from it crispy and refreshing — and the only thing keeping me awake right now. I’ve never been a coffee drinker, mainly because in order to drink it I need to doctor it with so much cream and sugar that it doesn’t qualify as coffee by the time I’m done with it.
