Page 4 of Their Reluctant Catch

My breathing is loud, and my hands shake as I whisper into the phone. “Two men. Guns. At Mitch’s Auto and Rental. Please hurry.”

“Shut the fuck up!” The shout is followed by a loud crash, and something shatters. Mitch tries to talk them down again, and his voice is trembling with the same fear that wracks my body.

“Take whatever you want. Just don’t hurt anyone,” Mitch implores.

And then the shot. One.

“Dad!” A thud and running boots on the concrete.

Then a second shot.

The wail of sirens.

I cover my mouth with my hand to muffle the scream threatening to break free. My pulse roars in my ears and drowns out the sound of the robbers’ curses and running feet.

I need to get out of the Aston Martin, but I’m frozen. Help Danny. Help Mitch.

“Armed police!”

“Anna!” Mom’s voice draws me back to the present, and I realize she’s crouched in front of me holding my face between her hands. My chest heaves, and my face is wet with tears I didn’t even feel fall. She uses her thumbs to wipe them away.

“Come on.” She pulls me to my feet, presses my face in her neck, and waits for my breathing to slow down. When I’m calmer, she guides me to the sink. “Help me with the dishes.”

It’s such a normal thing to do, and painfully mundane, but I let her push a dish towel into my hands. I dry while she washes, the rush of running water filling the space between us. The silence feels different now, but the chores help. The air is less heavy and less suffocating.

“You can’t keep living like this, Anna. Afraid of everything. Afraid of nothing.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight. “I don’t know how to stop.”

“You leave.” She’s matter of fact, like she’s already decided for me. “You get out of Miami. Away from the noise, the crowds. Away from the memories.”

I laugh, short and bitter. “And go where? I don’t exactly have a plan.”

“You don’t need a plan. You just need to go.” She turns off the water, dries her hands, then goes to the closet. When she comes back, she’s holding a dart.

“What the hell is that for?” I ask, frowning.

She grabs the map off the wall, the one we used to mark road trips when I was a kid and unrolls it on the table. “You’re going to throw this dart, and wherever it lands, that’s where you’re going.”

I stare at her, waiting for the punchline. “You can’t be serious.”

She holds out the dart to me, her face deadly serious. “You’re not staying here, so unless you’ve got a better idea, take the damn dart.”

I fumble as I take it, the weight heavier than it should be. I stare at the map, scanning the names of towns and cities, each one a potential escape, a potential mistake.

“Throw it,” she says.

I do. The dart spins through the air and lands with a dull thud. We both lean over the map to see where it’s landed.

Way up north. Mother-fucking Maine.

“Northwick Cove,” she reads, her lips quirking into a smirk. “Well, that’s... quaint.”

“Fuck, Mom.” I run a hand through my hair, laughing despite myself. “The things you get me into.”

Her smile softens, and she places a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll be okay, Anna. You just need a fresh start.”

I study the map and the tiny dot that represents a place I’ve never heard of before. Freaking Maine—how cold is it up north this time of year?

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