Page 61 of This Beautiful Lie
Five minutes later, my face was washed, I was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and I’d found Dean’s keys beside his suitcase.
I hesitated at the front door, where George trotted over with his leash hanging from his mouth. Guilt pricked over mystomach. “I’m just taking it for a minute. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
George tilted his head to the side, as though trying to understand me. Then he huffed out a breath and sat at my feet. I crouched down to give him a quick scratch behind the ears—part bribe, part apology—before straightening and grabbing my briefcase.
The Jeep felt enormous compared to my BMW—like driving a piece of farm equipment instead of a car. I scanned the unfamiliar dashboard, trying to locate the parking brake. My fingers fumbled over the release, and when it finally shifted into reverse the Jeep lurched backward, and I instantly slammed on the breaks.
My pulse was thudding, and I hadn’t even made it out of the parking spot yet.
“You can do this,” I muttered. “Nice and easy.”
I eased my foot onto the accelerator again, and this time I rolled forward without a problem, my eyes locked on the wooden sign that pointed toward the lodge.
The gravel crunched under the tires, and I was aware of every tiny sound around me. I felt like a teenager sneaking out of my room, and had to remind myself that I was a grown woman who could do anything I wanted to do. Still, I was thankful when I didn’t see a single soul the entire drive to the main road.
When I got there, I realized I hadn’t been paying any attention on our way up here, and mentally kicked myself for it. I had no idea where I was going, but then a sign came from above…a lone car drove from somewhere in the distance.
In that split second, I decided to follow it.
I merged onto the tree-lined street, my hands gripping the wheels so tight that my knuckles felt numb. There were no signs. No houses. Nothing but mother nature around me—for miles.
I was just about to turn back when a squat, weathered gas station came into view up ahead. I pulled into the parking lot, but the car I’d been following carried on without me. Panic settled into my chest because I realized in that moment that I was very much alone—in the middle of nowhere—without cell service.
But then I glanced at my phone on the passenger seat, and two welcoming bars blinked to life at the top of my phone screen. “Oh, thank God,” I whispered—just as a loud knock sounded at my window.
I jumped in my seat, then turned toward an old man standing outside. He gave me a cranking gesture with one hand, silently asking me to roll down my window.
I cracked it open, and he leaned into the frame, his forearm pressing against the glass. “We’re out of gas,” he said. “Been waiting for the delivery for hours. Didn’t want you to come in and be disappointed.”
I blinked. “That’s fine, actually—I’m just here to send an email. The place I’m staying at doesn’t have internet.”
A grin exposed his pearly oversized dentures. “Pine Ridge?” he asked, his tone hinting at the fact I wasn’t the first person who’d come there in search of a signal. “We’ve got Wi-Fi inside,” he offered. “My wife just made a fresh pot of coffee. Come on in.”
I checked the time. I’d only been gone fifteen minutes, and it would be much easier to send an email from my computer than to peck out a message on my phone.
I nodded, then climbed out of the jeep and followed him inside.
The bell above the door gave a half-hearted jingle when we entered, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the cozy quiet. The place smelled of coffee—strong and fresh—and something sweet, like cinnamon.
It looked exactly as I’d imagined. Old postcards lined up on a wire rack, linoleum floor with years of scuff marks, a single table sat near a window, littered with magazines.
The old man shuffled toward the table, clearing the mess with practiced ease.
“Patty,” he called toward the back, raising his voice. “We have a customer!”
A white-haired woman poked her head up from behind the counter, squinting. “What’s that?”
“A young lady from Pine Ridge—needs our internet,” he repeated, tapping the wall where the Wi-Fi password was posted on a golden placard.
She frowned, as though she wasn’t sure what he’d just said, then disappeared into the back.
I turned toward my briefcase, pulled out my laptop, then began connecting to the internet—but when I looked up, the woman was suddenly by my table, a carafe in one hand, and a mug in the other.
“I’m sorry,” I said, patting my pockets even though I already knew they were empty. “I left my wallet back in my cabin.”
“Oh, nonsense, Sloane” she said, setting down the cup before filling it with steaming coffee. “We’ll put it on your tab. Bring it next time—I know you’re good for it.” She winked then and reached into the pocket of her floral apron to retrieve a handful of creamers, which she promptly dropped onto the table. “Sugar?” she asked.
“I’m not—” but the old man was shaking his head at me by the register, as though telling me to be quiet.
