Page 5 of Total Jane Wreck

Collapsing against the sagging mattress, with its awful brown-and-tan polyester bedspread, I stare at the ceiling. “Skipped out big-time. After I caught Jackson and Melissa having sex. Right now, I’m in a hotel in Belleville, Missouri. But I’m Colorado bound.”

She gasps. “Holy shit. Back up. I need details.”

Brontë works in Atlanta for an environmental non-profit, her dream job. We’ve been BFFs since eighth grade, when we bonded over our boycott of the middle school’s cafeteria lunches, furious that they didn’t offer vegetarian options. When she left Kentucky, we both cried alligator tears, promising each other that we’d still talk every day.

“So what’s the plan?” she asks after I’m done telling her the whole story. “Is this like The Chicks’ song, ‘Wide Open Spaces’?”

“No. In that song, the parents hug their daughter and give her their blessing. But I’ve gone rogue and I have no plan.”

“Oh, you have a plan,” Brontë says. “You always have a plan. You just haven’t acknowledged it yet.”

I twirl a lock of my hair. “Do you think I could get work at a ranch out west? Like, walk up and say, ‘Hi, my background’s in thoroughbreds, but when it comes to reading a horse, I’m like a savant’?”

“Why not?” she says. “May as well try. What have you got to lose?”

“Only everything. Right now, I could turn around and beg my family’s forgiveness. I could probably even get Jackson back. But I don’t want him back.”

“Of course you don’t. That’s why you called me and not your mom.”

Brontë understands me so well.

***

In the morning, I drive west, stopping only when my bladder’s going crazy or the need for caffeine takes over. I cross into Kansas, where the fields go on so far that the horizon just stops meaning anything. By noon, the phone vibrates again, but this time I click Accept before I can overthink.

“Jane,” Mom says. Her voice is brittle, slicked with bright determination. “Your father and I are worried sick. Explain yourself, please!”

“Sorry, Mom.” If I had any idea what else to say, I’d say it. Seems my verbal skills have just gone stagnant in my brain.

“Look,” she says, “I understand getting scared. Marriage is a big step. But Jackson is a good man. Be grateful that he’ll overlook your . . .” she inhales, seemingly struggling for the right word ”. . . hang-ups.”

I rub my forehead, confused. “What now?”

“Sex is a natural part of an adult relationship, Jane. Jackson’s been patient far longer than most men would be. Don’t blame him for wanting to get to second base. It’s to be expected—”

“Mom! Stop!”

Neither of us speaks, and the silence between us swings like an anvil. I grip the steering wheel, staring straight ahead as cows, wheat fields, and barns blur in my periphery. “What did Jackson tell you?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath. “Just that he asked you to finally be intimate with him, and you panicked and left.”

It takes a minute for me to process what she just said. Of course Jackson lied.

Laughter bubbles out of me. “Mom, I gotta go. I’ll call you when I’m settled.”

“Wait,” she cries. “When are you coming home?”

“Not for a long, long time.”

***

Once I’m in Colorado, I visit every horse ranch I can find. First in Walsenburg, then in La Veta, Fort Garland, Alamosa, and Monte Vista. At each place I ask if they’re hiring, but I’m met with a series of nos.

Then I get to Sugar Pine Springs. It’s an adorable town that sits in the shadow of a mountain. There’s a park in the town square that’s full of trees, and a main street lined with two bookstores, restaurants and bars with patios, and a two-story outdoor equipment store called Alpine Adventures. It’s also the home of Marigold Sanders, author of Escape from the Springs. I stop in the diner for a bite to eat and ask the waitress, “Are there any horse ranches in the area?”She bites the corner of her lip. “Only one. It’s private, for retired horses, mistreated horses, that sort of thing. Called Resilience Ranch. But it’s not open to the public.”

My heart rate increases. “Can you tell me how to get there?”

Chapter Three