RUNAWAY WEEKEND

By

Becca Chase

© copyright Sept 2007, Becca Chase

Cover art by Alex DeShanks, © copyright Sept. 2007

ISBN 978-1-60394-079-5

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

“Oh shit!” What did I run over? Driving through an Interstate construction zone, God only knows. Everyone drove like the hounds of hell nipped at their tires. The digital reading on my dashboard was edging eighty in a seventy mile per hour speed zone as I tried to keep with the flow of traffic.

My car started to shimmy. There was no doubt in my mind that I had a blown a tire. Great! Now all I had to do was get over three lanes of fast moving traffic to the tall concrete construction dividers so I could stop.

I hit my turn signal and the flashers, glanced into the rear view mirror, and went for it. Amidst screeching breaks and honking horns I at last came to a safe stop. My heart was pounding so hard I felt like I was going to vomit.

Both hands once again gripping the steering wheel, I leaned my head back against the headrest, closed my eyes, and took deep calming breaths.

Ever want to pack a bag, get in the car, and run away from home? To get away from everything and everyone you know, at least for a little while? That was my plan when I headed out. After working seven days a week for more than a year without a break, I’d reached total burn-out. I’d lost the spark, my enthusiasm for my job, and it was translating into flagging sales.

I desperately needed a change of scenery. The way I saw it, I had two options; I could go someplace exciting, or someplace peaceful and quiet where I could blow away the cobwebs and sooth my soul. I chose the latter. I didn’t have the energy for excitement or a fast pace and to be honest, who wants to go someplace exciting alone?

I’m a thirty-five year old divorcee and a real estate agent trying to make a living in an area hard hit by the flagging economy and the relocation to Mexico of our major source of employment. With more homes on the market than buyers, I have to work harder and put in longer hours to latch onto my share of the market. My days consist of phone calls starting as early as seven AM to sometimes as late as eleven PM. I begin scheduling showings around nine AM to as late as potential purchasers want to see a home. In between showings, I’m at the office making calls, taking calls, doing paper work, and everything in my power to see that my pending sales run smoothly, without falling apart before closing. Meals consist of grabbing something quick to eat between appointments. I have no children and no man in my life. Hell, I don’t know where I’d find the time to fit a relationship in. My friends have stopped asking me to go out because I’m always working. Quite simply, I don’t have a personal life.

So there I sat, barely fifty miles from home and I already had more than enough excitement, thank you. To make matters worse, I had a sudden mental flash of my cell phone, plugged into the charger on the counter top at home where I’d left it in a fit of rebellion against being a slave to the bit of technology that was never far from my reach.

Assuming I could make the next two hundred miles in one piece, I was even more ready for the peace and quiet I’d set out to find.

I don’t know how long I sat there, part of me hoping some chivalrous knight would come to my rescue, or at least a cop. I saw two blow past without a backward glance. That figures. Cops were always there when you didn’t want them to be, like when I’m running late for an appointment. I’ve had a few tickets to prove it. And now when I need a cop….

I’ve been on my own for a long time now, not that my ex-husband was much help when he was around. I’m intelligent, independent, and self sufficient. Changing a tire shouldn’t be that difficult. “I can do this,” I told myself as I pressed the button to open the trunk. I opened the door and got out.

Holy crap! The wind created by a passing eighteen wheeler nearly knocked me off my feet. The tires on the driver’s side were okay. I rounded the back and found the flat on the rear passenger side which was against the concrete divider wall. That was a good thing, right? At least I wouldn’t be attempting to change the darn thing on the side where I’d be a crouching target for side-swiping projectiles on wheels.

Vehicles were zooming past creating a wind tunnel effect that had my hair whipping around my head and face. I was forced back into my car to retrieve an elastic band from my purse so I could pull my hair back and secure it to the nape of my neck.

Okay, I admit it. I was stalling. While it was necessary to control the Medusa effect with my hair so I could see what I was doing, I was still hoping someone would stop and change the damn tire for me. Didn’t happen. As much as I hated to accept it, chivalry did in fact appear to be dead.

“You can do this,” I said, preparing myself to open the door and once again step out to face the perils of high speed Interstate traffic.

I got all the necessary equipment out of the trunk. The jack is a pretty straight forward tool so jacking up the car and getting the hubcap off wasn't too tough. Cars keep whizzing past, including another cop, this one a State Trooper. Next came the lug nuts!!!! Ever wonder who came up with the term "Lug Nut"? It has a masculine ring to it and stimulates all kind of images about the masculine personality. I decided the term was most likely devised because some big lug put the things on so tight that only a man has the strength to get them off. (Tip, loosen the lug nuts before you jack up the car so the tire won’t keep turning to hamper your efforts).

After a lot of pushing, straining, and extreme frustration, the lug nuts were at last off. I muscled the blown tire off. Next, the little donut thingy that passes as a tire went on. All but one of the lug nuts are back on, loosely. After the trouble I had getting them off, it didn’t take brilliance on my part to know that I needed to lower the jack to keep the tire secure so I could tighten the nuts enough to keep the tire from falling off when I got back on the road.

By God, I did it! The knuckles of my right hand were bleeding where I scraped them on the pavement while turning the handle of the jack, but I changed a tire...by my myself. And feeling pretty darn good about myself I might add.

“Need some help?”

You got it. My hero to the rescue…. The first words out of my mouth were, "Now, you show up?"

He was awfully cute, though, and had a sheepish grin that revealed perfect pearly whites as he apologized. "Sorry. I went past so fast I couldn't stop."

He’d pulled off the Interstate onto the first access road and climbed up a hill to reach me. You have to give the guy credit. And of course his killer smile didn't hurt. Anyway, he tightened the infernal nuts, and put the blown tire and jack in the trunk.

Naturally, I offered to drive him back to his vehicle. We were ready to get back in my car, and, yep, you got it again. A cop finally pulls over, lights flashing. Big and muscular, this State Trooper looked as if he could have lifted the car without the aid of a jack. "You need assistance?" he asks.

"Yeah, about forty-five minutes ago."

Next on the agenda--get off the Interstate and find a place to get a new tire so I didn't have to drive too far on the donut. Shouldn't be too difficult.

They say that no good deed goes unpunished. It was my reward for the mistake of stopping in at the office before I left town. I stopped in to change my voice mail message, referring my calls to a friend who was covering for me while I was out of town. The phone started ringing the minute I sat at my desk. One buyer was getting cold feet and wanted to back-out a week before closing his purchase. That was one fire I couldn’t leave without putting out. Then a buyer to whom I’d been showing homes for the past six months wanted to write an offer…on the first house I’d shown her … now … before someone bought it out from under her. This client had a tendency to flit form real estate office to real estate office, agent to agent, and there was no doubt in my mind that if I didn’t jump when she said jump, she’d call an agent from another office to write the offer. It was a $200,000 sale and a nice commission I couldn’t afford to lose. Needless to say, I left town much later than I’d planned.

I stopped at two tire stores only so be told, gallantly, by the men who were standing outside the open garage doors putting on tires, “Sorry, we just closed.” Of course they kindly directed me elsewhere. After ten miles of teeth grinding, bumper to bumper, Friday evening traffic, I finally made it to a tire store, with fifteen minutes to spare before they too would have closed.

I can’t deny that after the flat and the trouble I had finding someplace that was open to purchase a new tire, I was wondering if maybe someone was trying to tell me something. Maybe the trip was a mistake. Maybe I should just turn around and go back home. I knew damn good and well there was probably already half a dozen messages on my voice mail and I’d be back at work tomorrow morning. I left the infernal cell phone behind in the first place, so I wouldn’t be tempted to check my messages.

* * * *

By the time I turned the key in the lock of the charming redwood cabin I’d rented, the sun was already beginning its descent behind the mountains. Not wanting to miss my first spectacular sunset, I dropped my luggage beside the front door, my keys on the table, and continued through the combo living/dining/kitchen to the French doors that opened to the covered deck which overlooked the river.

I’d done an online virtual tour of the cabin before making my reservation, so I knew what to expect, including the welcoming porch swing with its thickly padded cushions. I knew I should get the few supplies I’d brought along from the trunk of my car and unpack my luggage before I settled in to relax and enjoy my surroundings, but this was my escape from organizing my time. Four whole days to myself to do what I want to do, when I want to do it … or not. Well actually, I had the rest of today, Saturday, Sunday, and had to head home on Monday. So, I planted my rear on the swing, resting my back against the cushion on one end, propped my feet up on the other, and felt some of the tension drain from my body for the first time in a very long time.

Just the reddish glowing tip of the sun was now visible above the mountains which had become darkened silhouettes against a crimson and amber backdrop. It was an awe inspiring view amplified by its reflection upon the smooth, clear surface of the river.

The early-October air was refreshingly cool without being chilly. It was a perfect evening in a perfect setting. For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine why I had waited so long to visit the place my friend Connie and her husband escaped to a couple of times a year for a romantic getaway.

From what I could see, the only thing with the potential to mar the perfection of the location was the neighboring log cabin, or rather log home, when I’d anticipated absolute peace and quite. While the cabin appeared to be unoccupied, I also knew that it was Friday and, for many, the weekend was just beginning. From the size of it, it could probably sleep a dozen people. It would be just my luck for it to be leased out for a family reunion or something, complete with a herd of unruly kids running around the entire area. It isn’t that I don’t like children. I do. I still have hope of having a couple of my own and have considered artificial insemination if Mr. Right doesn’t come along … soon. The hands on my biological clock were definitely turning faster as each year passed. But for the purpose of my getaway, a group of screaming kids did not equate to peace and quiet.

I have no idea how long I sat there reveling in the undisturbed peace of my surroundings. Like my cell phone, my wrist watch had been another act of rebellion

against routine, schedules, and appointments. I’d removed it and dropped it in my handbag at the first stop sign outside the city limits.

I watched as the vivid hues of the sunset faded to a dark, star studded sky. I listened to the water washing upon the shore, heard the occasional splash of fish jumping to the surface to feed on insects, the sound of crickets and tree frogs, and the occasional hoot of an owl. My only regret was that I didn’t have a significant other with whom to share it.

The pure night sounds of nature were disturbed by the intrusive hum of what sounded like an engine in the distance, followed several minutes thereafter by a narrow beam of light upon the water. The beam widened and became more distinct as the engine drew nearer to my location. First one, then two, three, four, five, and six, light surrounded, flat beds of a barge appeared, followed by the tug boat pushing them. I watched until they were out of sight, the hum of the engine fading, wondering why they called it a tug boat when it pushed instead of pulled.