CHAPTER 62

Maggie drove without a destination, hoping only to burn off the mounting anger. After an hour, she pulled into the busy parking lot of a pancake house, thinking some food might settle her nerves and her stomach. She was at the door of the restaurant, her hand on the door handle when she spun around, almost bumping into two customers before hurrying back to the car. She didn’t dare have breakfast. How could she possibly risk another waitress’s life?

Back on the road, Maggie’s eyes darted all around her, checking the rearview mirror and every car alongside her. She pulled off the interstate, drove several miles down a deserted two-lane highway, then returned to the interstate. Several miles later, she exited at a rest stop, circled around, parked, waited, then headed back onto the interstate.

“Come on, Stucky,” she said to the rearview mirror. “Where the hell are you? Are you out there? Are you following me?”

She used her cellular phone and tried to call Nick, but he must have already left for Boston. Desperate for a distraction, any distraction, she dialed her mother’s phone number. Maybe she could drive down to Richmond. That would certainly take her mind off Stucky. Her mother’s answering machine picked up on the fourth ring.

“I can’t come to the phone right now,” a cheerful voice answered, and Maggie immediately thought she had dialed the wrong number. “Please call back another time, and remember, God watches out for those who can’t watch out for themselves.”

Maggie snapped the phone shut. Oh God, she thought, wishing the voice had not been her mother’s, and that she indeed had the wrong number. However, she recognized the raspy, cigarette-smoking tone despite the false cheerfulness. Then she remembered what Greg had said about her mother being out of town. Of course, she was with Reverend Everett—whoever the hell he was. They were in Las Vegas. Where else would manic-depressed alcoholics go to find God?

She noticed the gas tank getting low so she pulled off the interstate and found an Amoco station. She had the gas cap off when she realized the pumps were not set up for credit cards and a pay-at-the-pumps. She glanced over at the station’s shop. As soon as Maggie saw the female clerk’s blond curls, she replaced the gas cap and got back into the car.

It took two more attempts and about twenty more miles before she found a pay-at-the-pumps station. By now her nerves were rubbed raw. Her head hurt and the nausea had left her feeling hollow and sick to her stomach. There was nowhere she could go. Running away would not solve anything. Nor could she coax Stucky into coming after her. Unless he was already waiting for her. She decided to take her chances and return home.