Page 151 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

uneven ground. The mobile home of garden gnomes and pink
flamingos the only light in the entire world. Maybe someone
there. Greta had swiveled around, streaking for the shack,
nighttime snapping at her heels. Everything not touched by
that single porch light conspired against her.
She’d hammered on the door. Another human—that’s
what she needed. Another living being in the dark. Greta
cringed at the racket of her knocking, a beacon for everything

hiding in the shadows. She pounded again, checking over her
shoulder, then slumped against it. Nothing. Entirely alone.
Greta tried to sort out her mind, her beating heart scat-
tering every piece of clarity. Roger thought she was at Rachel’s
house. Who would find her out here? She’d smash a cabin
window. She’d make a bonfire. She’d walk to the highway at
first light. And the cold? Even after Roger’s nagging, she’d

only worn a stupid leather jacket instead of a real winter coat.
And what about food? Water?
Greta’s fingers brushed the hard corner of her phone
in her jacket pocket, her relief a flare of light. People lived
out here for months at a time—there had to be cell service.
She pulled it out. One weak bar. She exhaled, dizzy.
Who to call? Her first stupid thought was Rachel. She
closed her eyes. Roger would come for her. But then so many
questions. He’d make her live at home until she was thirty.

Only one person for this job. He’d be the one closest to the
phone anyway, probably watching tv.
Greta made the phone call and then waited nearly an
hour, huddled on the steps of the cabin with all the lawn junk.

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