Jettie Woodruff - Underestimated

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, dead or alive are a figment of my imagination and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s mind’s eye and are not to be interpreted as real.

Warning! This is not your everyday fall in love romance. This book contains disturbing situations, strong language, graphic, sexual content, some forced, some not. If it’s your happily ever after love story that you are looking for, you should probably move on. If you are up for the ride, stick around and it may just turn into a love story after all.

Of all of the thirty-six alternatives, running away is best.

I couldn’t hold my eyes open for one more second. I had just driven two thousand nine hundred and fifty four miles, fifty seven hours, not including the six hours that I tried to sleep at the Motel 6, twice . Thirty four more miles, according to the robotic voice coming from the box stuck to the windshield of my not so new, used car.

The closer I got, the more my nerves began to stand on end. What the hell was I doing? Who does this? Who walks away from their life to start all over? And when I say all over, I truly mean all over. My entire existence had been nothing but an illusion.

My name is no longer Morgan Kelley. That one would take some getting used to. I spent hours of my long drive going over the aspects of my new life with my invisible friend in the passenger seat. We actually had hours of conversations, okay, so they were one sided, but they were without doubt, conversations. I had even given my new friend a name and called him slash, after the three inch gash in the cheap vinyl seat.

My name is Riley Murphy. I moved to Misty Bay, Maine from Carson, Indiana when my company downsized, and I lost my job as an advertising rep. The small two bedroom cottage was a gift from my late grandmother. “Wow, a small cottage in Misty Bay, population, one thousand seventy five.” I interrupted my life studies when reality sat in for the millionth time since I had left Las Vegas. I mean Indiana. “Dammit Morg… Shit, I mean Riley.” I need to sleep. I just need sleep. I can’t function. I know this. I have it all embedded in my brain. I am going to be fine, and there is nobody from Misty Bay, Maine looking for me. I had to stop. I couldn’t repeat my new life out loud or to myself, one more time. Not if I intended to keep my sanity in tack. It was already on the verge of toppling over.

“Turn right in one point seven miles,” the robotic voice instructed. I turned right and was on a curvy blacktop road barely wide enough for two vehicles. The coast was absolutely breath taking, and did wonders for my nerves. I reached over and cranked the handle, rolling down the passenger side window. My nerves calmed even more when I heard the waves crashing to the rock walls below me. I couldn’t believe it. I was going to be living by the ocean. I could walk along the beach anytime I wanted, and I would too, I promised myself.

‘Welcome to Misty Bay,’ I finally read the homemade wooden sign, situated in the fresh spring, green leafed trees off the side of the road. I drove through the small town, looking out every window in the car. My head spun around until it wouldn’t rotate any further. One bank, one post office, one grocery store, one small library which looked like it would fit in the one that I use to go to in Las, I mean Indiana, at least ten times.

‘Reminiscent,’ I read as I pulled to the curb. This was where I would be working. Me, working in a coffee shop slash, hippy store. I had never had a job in my life. I felt a little whinsical thinking about it. I looked into my rearview mirror. I still had the bruise just below my right eye, but I had four days to get settled before I started work. It should be gone by then.

I waited for the school bus to pass and continued on my journey, excited to finally reach my destination. “Turn right,” the voice instructed again. I made a right and was on a one lane graveled road. It was a quaint little neighborhood, and an older gentleman waved as I passed him retrieving his mail. “Arriving at destination, on right,” I was informed. It wasn’t what I was expecting at all. The cottage was sort of by the beach, and I hoped there was a strategy to get off of the mountaintop to enjoy it. The aqua blue color of the house had to go. Who in their right mind would paint a house that color? It was the ugliest blue I had ever seen. I actually had a sundress pretty close to that color. I wouldn’t be wearing that, I decided when I got out of my car. It was the beginning of May and the temperature might have been sixty. When I left Las, I mean Indiana, it was ninety nine.

I opened the gate, just off from the driveway. The picket fence was nice, and I liked the white, but would unquestionably be changing the color of the house. I walked up the small porch and unlocked the door, the door to my new home. “Wow,” I said out loud to no one. The living room was open and led to the small dining area. I walked across the hardwood floor to the other side. I loved the French doors that led to a nice deck, although it was further away from the beach than I had hoped. I turned back to the bright yellow walls on every wall that I could see. The kitchen wasn’t bad and had updated, modern appliances, but the bright yellow paint was already giving me a migraine. The countertops were a dark gray color. I thought that they were some kind of fake marble, but I could work with that.

I walked toward the side of the house and peeked in the bathroom. I was pleasantly surprised. I was happy to see the rather large claw foot tub, and was gratified to see that the walls were a pleasant neutral, olive green color. I liked that room, and it only needed a good cleaning. I opened the first bedroom door and thought it would make a nice office. It was small but had a reasonable size window overlooking the ocean. I could even live with the light blue walls. The next room was bigger, but nothing like I was used to in Indiana. I smiled to myself when I remembered that I was from Indiana and not Las Vegas. It too had a marvelous view, overlooking pine trees and also the Atlantic Ocean. The walls were a soft, subtle gray, and I loved it. One less thing to do. I noticed how rocky the yard seemed to be, and then it dawned me. I would have to mow and take care of the yard myself. At least there was a small shed to keep a lawn mower. Lawnmower? I didn’t know how to buy a lawnmower. Where do you even buy those things?

Okay so maybe I didn’t think this through all that well. I had no bed. Where was I supposed to sleep? The only furniture left in the house was a table and four chairs. The table was one of those round plastic outdoor tables with a hole running through the middle of it for an umbrella. The four plastic chairs didn’t even match. One was green, one was white, and two were brown. No couch either, this was just brilliant. I had the money, and I had planned on buying new everything. That part I was looking forward to, however, it didn’t help much at seven o’clock on a Thursday night. Food! I had no food either. I was so tired. I honestly didn’t want to go back into town, although it would have taken me a full three minutes to drive. I decided to unload my car and at least get a much needed hot shower. No. I wouldn’t be doing that either. Well I could, but I had no soap, no shampoo, no wash cloth, and not even a towel to dry on. I didn’t even have a blanket to cover up with, let alone lie on.

I unloaded what clothes that I had. Nothing was mine, not even the clothes that I was wearing. Ms. K had made me change them and put on the ones that she had gotten for me. I didn’t even take any of the expensive items from Drew. Ms. K told me not to, afraid that if I pawned them, they might be traced, and that was a chance that I wasn’t willing to take. I didn’t even get the one framed picture of my Grandma Joyce, the only person who had ever cared about me or my wellbeing. The pictures of my life after Drew could have gone up in flames, and I wouldn’t have cared.