Page 47 of Crow's Haven
True to his word, fifteen minutes later we pull into a brightly lit truck stop. Sam parks smoothly, kills the engine, and climbs out, motioning for me to follow.
Inside, the noisy hum of conversation and crackle of a staticky radio provides comforting anonymity. Sam leads me to a quieter corner, pulling a battered flip phone from his pocket.
“Take your time,” he says quietly, handing me the device. “I’ll grab some coffee. Give you some privacy.”
He steps away, leaving me alone, fingers trembling as I dial my cousin’s number. My pulse quickens with each ring until finally, mercifully, she answers, her voice sleepy but alert.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” I whisper urgently, heart pounding. “I had to run again.”
She’s instantly wide awake. “Shit, girl. Are you safe?”
“For now,” I say quickly, fighting panic. “I’m at some truck stop on the interstate. I don’t have anything. I had to leave without my car, phone, and even my wallet. Which means I’ve got no money or place to stay. I’m sorry, I know I’ve already asked too much of you.”
“Shut up,” she interrupts firmly but lovingly. “You’re family. Give me five minutes. I’ll send cash to your account. You can access it through the app at any ATM. Just remember to delete it from whoever’s phone you’re borrowing.”
Relief floods through me. It’s so powerful that it leaves me shaking. “Thank you. God, thank you.”
“Don’t give it another thought. It’s what any decent cousin would do. I love you, girl,” she says firmly. “Call me again as soon as you’re somewhere safe. We’ll figure out what to do next. You’re not alone, okay?”
“I love you too,” I whisper, tears flooding my eyes. “I promise I’ll call soon.”
When I hang up, Sam is waiting patiently nearby, sipping black coffee from a Styrofoam cup, eyes steady and gentle.
“All good?” he asks quietly.
I nod, voice thick with gratitude. “Yes. My cousin’s sending money. I can access it using your phone through any ATM. Is that okay with you?”
“Absolutely,” he says softly, approval lighting his face. “I’m glad you have someone you can rely on in your life. Not everyone does.”
“I’m so grateful for the help you’re giving me. I hope you end up blessed in this life. You really deserve it.”
“Awe, that’s damn nice of you to say, Ladybug. Now let’s get you fed properly so you don’t end up blowing away in the wind.”
I follow him to the truck stop diner. It’s a warm, friendly place. In this moment, Sam feels like a guardian angel, someone safe and solid in a world suddenly turned upside down. I’m lucky he stopped for me.
Over plates of scrambled eggs and toast, Sam shares stories of his family. He tells me all about his granddaughter’s first steps, her mom’s teenage stubbornness, and how she’s determined to go to college and make something of herself soshe can give her daughter a good life. The pride in his voice is unmistakable. Listening to him eases my fear, reminding me that there is still good in the world.
I download my banking app on his phone, sign in, and use the ATM at the truck stop to pull out five hundred dollars. I quickly locate a shelf filled with cheap, disposable prepaid burner phones. They’re supposed to be untraceable. I choose one, my fingers trembling slightly as I count out cash at the counter. The cashier barely looks up, indifferent to my nervousness. The phone feels light and insignificant in my palm, but it’s a lifeline, my only connection to my cousin, who is my only anchor in this chaos.
Back outside, Sam offers another reassuring nod. “You got what you need?”
“Yeah.” I hold the phone to let him see. I’m careful to uninstall my banking app from his phone before handing it back. I also offer to cover breakfast, but he won’t hear of it.
By the time we return to the truck, the bone-deep exhaustion that seeps into my bones has been softened slightly by the comfort of a warm meal and simple human kindness. Sam’s quiet companionship eases my panic into cautious hope. I don’t know what comes next, but for tonight, at least, I’m safe.
I rest my head against the cool window as the truck hums softly back onto the interstate, headed towards uncertainty. I don’t dare close my eyes again, because I can’t sleep the day away.
***
Later, Sam stops for gas. I make a quick call using my newly acquired cell phone and sit hunched in the truck’s passenger seat waiting for the call to go through.
“Please just come here,” she pleads quietly. “Stay with me. It’s safe, and we’ll figure this out together.”
My chest tightens painfully at the thought. “I can’t. If the cops find out you’re helping me, they’ll call you an accessory after the fact for harboring me.”
“I don’t think that’s quite how harboring a fugitive works,” she cuts in fiercely. “You’re family. I won’t turn my back on you.”
