Page 13 of Framed

I almost jumped for joy—figuratively speaking of course, it was too cold for sudden movements this time of year—when I heard the engine of Ramona’s loud semi-truck.

I nearly jumped again with excitement when we finally stopped at a Quiktrip a few miles later. Ramona claimed she needed to gas up anyway, after I asked if we could stop, but I stole a glance at the gas gauge when we pulled over—she still had half a tank.

Ramona was all right.

At Quiktrip, I was able to pick up the burner phone just like Briggs recommended, along with hand warmers and enough snacks to last me a year. I never realized how much I’d miss the simple pleasures in life, like an endless array of potato chip flavors to choose from.

I hesitated and tugged a strand of a curl that had fallen behind my ear, apprehensive. I still haven’t answered her question. If I was being honest, I wasn’t even sure of the correct way to respond.

The buff trucker didn’t seem to recognize me when I got into the passenger seat of her semi. But since we hadn’t talked much outside of her asking if I needed to stop at a restroom, I couldn’t definitively say that she had no clue who I was.

Maybe she did know. Maybe she was just being polite.

She hadn’t turned on the radio once during our two-day ride together. There were no news clippings with my face on the few newspapers I’d snuck a peak at while at any gas stations where we pulled over. She didn’t even put on any music.

We just sat in complete and utter silence.

So it was safe to say that we both appreciated the comfort you could find in keeping quiet.

“No,” I said, shifting my gaze to peer out the window. I hated that I had to lie, especially about my own mother, but it was safer this way. I wasn’t sure who I could trust anymore and she was a stranger. Someone I’d literally met on the street.

Besides, if Briggs was right, it could endanger her, if she knew too much.

Ramona nodded and we descended back into our comfortable silence.

An hour later we pulled into the parking lot of a massive building with bright lights flashing down the sides. Onyx Circus Hotel.

The change in the atmosphere outside was noticeable as we pulled into the parking lot. Though it was small—population of 1,425 according to the sign we passed on the way in—this area was lively. Patrons walked the lit strip full of restaurants, clubs, and shops.

It was as if this was a completely different world than the country road we’d been traveling on ever since I joined Ramona. This was probably the largest town she’d passed in days.

This was what I imagined Las Vegas would look like. Bigger, of course, but with the same ambiance. Crowded streets full of people, walking the strip of a city that never slept.

“Onyx Circus Hotel,” Ramona announced, parking sideways in the very last row and effectively blocking off seven or so parking spaces. “Fancy lookin’ hotel. You sure you got enough dough to stay here? I saw a sign for a motel a few miles up the road. I can drop you off there instead if you’d like.”

In any other circumstance, I would’ve likely been put off by her response. But I didn’t catch anything outside of genuine curiosity and worry for my well-being in her tone.

“I’m good. Thanks, Ramona,” I said, feeling slightly awkward that I didn’t have any belongings with me outside of a QuikTrip bag. I knew how this looked and she was right to worry about my ability to pay. “Thank you for the ride, too,” I added as I reached into my pocket. I produced three hundred-dollar bills.

“I don’t want your money, girlie.” Ramona shook of her head, using her hand to push away the outstretched bills. “Pay me back by staying safe.” Her words and cadence were similar to Briggs’s, and it was then I realized there were slight similarities between the two of them.

They had the same eyes. Now that I looked harder at the lady, save for the mustache, most of her facial features resembled an older feminine version of Aaron Briggs. Were they related?

I opened my mouth to voice my thoughts, but Ramona cut me off before I got the chance. It was like she could sense where the conversation was headed. “I hate to cut this short, little lady, but if you’re all good here, I’ll leave you on your way. I’m running low on driving time and I really need to make it to the next town or I’ll be behind a day. Boss is a nagging sonofabitch.”

“At least let me pay you for the mileage.”

“Nonsense. I told ya already, it was on my way. Company dime.” I could tell that she would remain unyielding in her decision.

Not needing to be told twice about overstaying my welcome, I placed one of the three hundred-dollar bills back in my pocket and made a grab for my singular plastic bag.

I hated the idea of another handout or owing anyone else, so I slipped the last two of the hundred-dollar bills into the lower cup holder of her passenger door. Maybe she’d discover it when she needed it most.

“Watch the bottom step,” Ramona warned, pointing to my other hand resting on the door handle. For a second, I froze, thinking I was caught but she didn’t seem to notice what I’d been doing with the door.

I nodded and heeded her warning, jumping off the third step, not even bothering with trying to reach the fourth and final one.

“Thanks again, Ramona,” I said, a shy but grateful smile on my lips.

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