Escape Read Online Free PDF Page B

mirror. I was headed north.

Chapter 3

 
    By the time I left I-91 for the back roads of New Hampshire, the hills were higher and the woods more dense. Gradually, those hills became mountains that blocked the sun, dimming the route. But I didn’t need bright sun. My memory held a vivid picture of these roads—and of the small town where I was headed. Nestled in a valley in the center of the state, Bell Valley was quintessentially New England, with a covered bridge on the approach, a town green ringed by historic houses, and a church spire sticking up through the trees like an eager finger saying,
Me
,
see me
,
here I am!
There were neither motels nor hotels, just a single bed-and-breakfast. If it was full, I would camp out in the gardener’s shed at the back. Lord knew, I had done that before.
    Dusk had fallen by the time I passed under that covered bridge, and the arms of the town opened. Bell Valley was a place of benches, luring takers to the green, the fringe of stores, the church. At this evening hour, it was also a place of soft light spilling from windows, brightest at The Grill, where dinner was in high gear. Cars were parked diagonally there, though the only movement came from a handful of walkers on the sidewalk that circled the green.
    Ten years later, this was still familiar to me. And that brought pain. My last memories of this place were of breaking up with Jude. He had been my first love, different from any man I’ve known to thisday. As I pictured him as he was then, so blond and wild, my eyes filled with tears, and for a split second I wondered if I was crazy to have come.
    You didn’t come here for Jude ten years ago
, I reminded myself as I brushed at the tears,
and you’re not here for him now. You’re here for you
.
    Back then, my burnout had been from finals, senior theses, even graduation parties. The cause was different now, but Bell Valley’s arms were still open.
    The town was a haven, from its protected spot between mountains to its spirit. Settled by the eponymous Jethro Bell in the late 1700s, it had been conceived of as a sanctuary for non-fishermen, and though agricultural interests had never fully caught on, its identity as a shelter had. The Bell Valley Refuge was known worldwide for taking in puppies from puppy mills, injured and abused cats, unwanted horses and donkeys, as well as pets that had been victimized by earthquake, tsunami, and war.
    I hadn’t been victimized as those animals had. But I did need rescue. My tears told me that. I was wiping with both hands but couldn’t stop them, and it was terrifying, this loss of control. For the past two days, I’d been in check. For the past ten years, I’d been in check. Suddenly not.
    Then came a sign. I had barely started around the town green, eyes welling still, when my car—that high-end marvel of foreign engineering—stalled. Coasting to the side where spaces in front of the General Store were empty for the night, I turned the key and tried to restart it once, twice, three times.
    Nothing.
    I might have laughed through my tears, if I hadn’t been so upset. I could call the service station just north of town, but if it was still there, it would be closed for the night. I could call James and crow,
Reliability? Hah!
But I didn’t want to talk with James, especially not when I was holding it together by a thread.
    The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to my return, yethere I sat, stalled in an expensive piece of automotive bling in a town of trusty pickups. Ah, the irony of that.
    But I was where I needed to be. My car must have known that.
    Besides, the bed-and-breakfast was right across the green, and though my composure was gone, my feet still worked.
    I was pulling my bag from the trunk, fighting the memory that came with the smell of pine sap in the air, when a couple approached. I didn’t recognize them, which was good. Some of those I did know in town wouldn’t be pleased to see me back.
    “Problems?” the