I ran shaking hands over my face and the rest of my body. The car ground to a halt against a guardrail that lined a narrow bridge. I froze up, helpless as I was pressed against the seat of my Tilt-A-Whirl. The tires locked and the car went into a tailspin. Suddenly a raccoon dashed in front of me, and I swerved. I fiddled with the radio station to find something besides gospel. I could almost imagine I was the only person alive in the world. No one was following me, and I hadn’t met a car in half an hour. įor the hundredth time, I checked the rearview mirror and saw nothing but black highway, pine trees, and mountains. I had family there on my mom’s side, people my father refused to talk to. I shook myself, focusing on Atlanta, Georgia. He’d be grabbing his Bible and snapping his belt up. I pictured his barrel chest and the way his thick fingers clenched when he was angry. He’d pop a blood vessel when he discovered I’d not only stolen his car but also most of the money from his wallet. I had to get out of Snowden, North Carolina before I lost my nerve to run away.Īn image of my father loomed. It sounded perfect-only the evening was humid as hell, the radio was stuck on a stupid gospel station, and the car, well, it was stolen.Ĭhewing on my nails, I debated on pulling off to the side of the road and putting the top down, but this wasn’t a pleasure ride. A young girl driving a red Mustang convertible.
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