Jilliane Hoffman - All the Little Pieces

She wiped the tears defiantly, this time before they fell. Charity had been there before when Faith had needed her … after the phone call that had changed everything. She didn’t know all the ugly details, but her sister had been supportive in her own way without knowing exactly what Faith was struggling with at the time or why she was so depressed. She hadn’t told her about Jarrod’s affair for the same reason he didn’t need to know about everything that had gone down at Charity’s tonight: Faith had never wanted her sister to hate her husband in the event she decided to forgive him. She’d never wanted Charity to think less of her for staying with a man who had strayed. After all the advice Faith had handed out over the years, she’d never wanted to be accused of being a hypocrite. Damn, her brain hurt from dredging up painful memories and betrayals. She wanted to go home and think things through before she made any more bad decisions. She was getting too good at that.

Then she saw it – the glowing red and yellow sign off in the distance. It was a fast food, or motel sign, she couldn’t tell. It was a business of some kind, of that she was sure. She breathed an enormous sigh of relief for the third time that night.

There was life up ahead.

Faith followed the glow through the asphalt maze that wound through the cane stalks until she came upon a lone, old-fashioned Shell station with two pumps at a four-way stop in an otherwise remote, isolated area. The station was closed.

She could feel the panic building inside, with the same fever and intensity as the rain pattering on her roof. Where the hell was she? And what should she do now? The street sign on the corner said Main Street. OK. Main Streets always ran through the center of a town, right? The thought encouraged her, although she couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of the ‘town’ must look like if this was where the hubbub was supposed to be happening. Then she spotted a road sign with a pointing arrow: SR 441/ US 98.

What road she was on before, whether she was ever really lost, didn’t matter any more because now she could find her way home. She followed the sign down a desolate Main Street, past a blinking, swinging streetlight, and finally into what looked like a small, one-street town. There were boarded-up buildings, a closed convenience store, a shuttered Chinese restaurant. A thrift store/hardware store/barber shop, all in one. Another streetlight that was blinking yellow. A medical clinic.

The buildings appeared old and rundown, dating to the forties or fifties, if she had to guess. Most of the signs were hand-painted on the businesses that looked like they were still in business: Chub’s BBQ, Sudsy Coin Laundry, Frank’s Restaurant. Other businesses were clearly gone and had been for quite a while. It looked like a town that might have had a heyday a very long time ago.

There were no cars parked on the street or in the little lots adjacent to some of the buildings. It was only her in the Town That Used To Be. The wind rocked the street’s second and final traffic light. She watched it swing back and forth on the cable like a gymnast getting ready to flip over. A streak of lightning splintered the sky, striking terrifyingly close. Raindrops the size of quarters began to ferociously pummel the car, making it literally impossible to see more than a few feet in front of her. She was in the heart of the storm. There would be no outrunning this rain band or driving through it. She pulled over defeatedly in front of a sign that said ‘Valda’s Hair Salon’, which she couldn’t tell was closed for the night or closed forever.

The adrenaline rush from running off the road earlier had subsided. She wasn’t panicked now as much as she was mentally overwhelmed and physically exhausted. And discouraged, because even though she was on the right road, she was still a long, long way from home.

Time for a smart decision – maybe the first one of the night. It was probably best to wait out the squall and let the worst of the rain band pass. What she didn’t want was to get lost again. Or run out of gas. Or worse, have an accident. There was no one out here to help her. She turned off the car to save gas, raised the volume on the radio so Maggie wouldn’t hear the thunder, and settled back to wait out the rain. The bands seemed to move quick; the worst rain should pass through in the next ten minutes.

Faith turned and watched Maggie, still shrouded in her blanket like a ghost, sleeping peacefully in the rearview. Her hand had slipped out the side of her Cha-Cha and tiny fingers – that Faith noticed her cousins had painted a bright pink – clutched Eeyore to her chest. She was definitely out for the night, which was a very good thing, having slept through Faith’s run off the road and into the cane stalks, and now through rain that sounded like a million Drummer Boys going at it on the roof. She placed the beach towel over Maggie’s bare feet. Watching her sleep made it easy to forget how difficult raising her was at times, although one look at the back of the passenger seat would probably remind her – there was likely a hole in it from the latest tantrum. Maggie’s ‘fits’ were one of the reasons she and Jarrod had decided not to get a new car for a few years – one that would have had GPS; they were waiting for Maggie to grow out of this challenging phase that was looking more and more like a condition.

Faith leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Her brain had no more real estate left for a new worry. And she didn’t want to think about Charity’s kitchen, or Jarrod’s intern, or the snickering Nicknames who would be talking about her in the morning over an Alka Seltzer. Instead, to pass the time, she thought about all the things she had to do tomorrow: she had a stack of purchase orders at Sweet Sisters that had to be signed, then the ad copy had to be written for the paper, and Maggie had ballet at four. If they were going to see a movie, it would have to be before that. There was laundry in the bucket …

A loud but muted bang sounded near where her head was resting against the seat, by the window. She sat up with a jolt and looked around. The SUV’s windows were all fogged. She wiped the drool from her mouth and looked at the dashboard clock: 1:11.

Thwap!

It was at the driver’s side window. Something had hit the window.

‘Help me!’ a voice said.

Faith’s blood turned to ice. There was somebody out there.

It was still dark, but she couldn’t hear the rain any more. She wondered if she was dreaming, if this was all part of a dream. Her hand hesitantly moved over the driver’s side window, gingerly wiping away the fog with her fingertips. The glass was cold. And wet. Water ran down her palm and up the sleeve of her silk blouse, making her shiver.

Something did not feel right. Something was very, very wrong.

She pressed her face up to the glass to see what was outside.

And the real nightmare began.

The girl stood there, her palms pressed flat against the window. Strands of long, dark hair were stuck to her face and neck; a blue leopard-print bra was visible through her dirty, wet T-shirt. Costume dragonfly earrings dangled from her ears. She stared at Faith with deep-set brown eyes that were streaked with heavy black eyeliner that had run down her cheeks. She put her face up to the window, her cracked lips touching the glass. ‘Help me!’ she said in a raspy voice. Katy Perry crooned on the radio.

Faith jumped back in her seat, smashing her hip into the center console. She looked around the car, but all the windows were fogged. She had no idea what else or who else was out there.

The girl turned to look behind her. Strands of her wet hair whipped against the window. Then she looked back at Faith and slapped the glass again. Her palms were filthy. ‘Hurry! Damn it! You have to let me in!’