Firefly Nights. Cynthia Thomason
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I might have to go to school in this Podunk state?”
“There’s nothing Podunk about Charlotte,” she said. “I’m sure there are very nice schools...if we need them.”
“You think you can really design clothes that people will buy?”
Kitty had wanted to make clothes since she was a child. In the back of the truck, she even had a few original patterns she’d developed herself and fabrics she’d hired a graphic artist to draw in a modernist style.
Adam seemed to be staring at her nape-length, spiky blond hair. He scrunched up his nose. “Remember, I’ve seen some of the stuff you’ve made. It’s kind of weird looking.”
“That’s why I’m going to school.” She was used to hearing criticism of her fashions from the males in her family, and she hoped they were wrong. Except for the purchase of her new Singer, she’d always been too complacent to take the plunge and pursue her dream seriously. Or maybe she’d been too lazy. Or scared. But in the past twenty-four hours, she’d taken quite a few plunges into the unknown, so what was one more?
Kitty clutched her stomach as a familiar stab of pain took her breath. The doctors told her it was anxiety. She’d suffered from phantom bellyaches off and on most of her life, but they’d gotten much worse after her mother died. And now she was banking her and Adam’s futures on her ability to succeed in a competitive business.
She kept telling herself that she had a plan, a good one. After a while, when Owen had calmed down, Kitty would call him and explain why she’d felt she had to leave, but right now he’d just have to be satisfied with the note she’d left telling him that she and Adam were taking a vacation. He wouldn’t believe it. And even if he did, he was probably already raising holy heck to find them. Thank goodness he’d never think to look in the back of a watermelon truck.
Adam had settled into a sort of temporary acceptance of their situation and was watching the passing scenery. She hoped he hadn’t picked up on her discomfort. She didn’t want him to bear any responsibility for what the immediate future held. This was her decision, and she’d made it at a crucial time in her son’s life. So she was the one who had to make it work.
The farm truck eased into a right turn off the highway and slowly crept along with the rest of the traffic entering the Value-Rite parking lot. It was eight-thirty on a Sunday morning, but already the lot was filling up, and people were heading toward the automatic doors.
The farmer drove to a large tent set up at one end of the asphalt where everything from corn on the cob to Georgia peaches was for sale. He chose a spot, and Kitty and Adam scrambled down.
“Thanks for the lift,” Kitty said as Adam headed toward the store. “I need to get my son some breakfast, but after that we’ll be glad to help you unload the melons.”
“No need for that,” the farmer’s wife said. “You don’t owe us for that ride.”
Kitty thanked the couple again and caught up with Adam. “Can I have a couple of bucks, Mom?” he asked. “I’ll bet they got doughnuts inside.”
“No doughnuts. That tent is full of fruit and healthy things. I’ll buy you a banana and a muffin and orange juice.”
He groaned his opinion of the breakfast menu. “At least let me go inside for a minute.”
She studied his expression, trying to determine his motive for wanting to enter the Value-Rite. “What for? I thought you were starving.”
“I am...or I was. But I have to use the bathroom.”
“Okay. And while you’re in there, find out where the pay phones are...so I can use one,” she added.
“You calling Grandpa?”
Kitty ignored the glimmer of hope in his eyes. “No, I’m calling Bette to tell her we’re going to be late.”
“Then use your cell phone.”
“I can’t. Every call from the cell is listed on the company bill and will alert Grandpa to anyone I contacted.”
“Then why did you bring the cell phone if you weren’t going to use it?”
“I would use it if there were an emergency.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “Mom, we have no car, no money and we’re stuck in Nowheresville. What the heck do you call an emergency anyway?”
He had a point, and she was almost ready to admit it when she saw the answer to their problems. “Look there,” she said, pointing to an ATM just to the right of the store entrance. “I can withdraw money from my account.” She walked toward the machine and took her bank card from her purse. Thankfully she’d been smart enough to remove all plastic from her wallet, or the card would have been stolen, too. She slipped the plastic into the slot, started to punch in her PIN and then yanked the card out so quickly a bystander might have thought the machine had caught fire.
Adam stared at her. “What’s wrong now?”
Kitty squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, trying to quell the shock of what she’d almost done. She’d put this plan together in less than a day, but she’d forgotten one vital detail. “We can’t get money this way,” she said.
“Why not? You said you’ve got some in your account.”
“I know, but...” She paused. Adam would never sympathize with the mistake she’d nearly made.
His eyes widened with impatience. “But what?”
But when I opened this account ten years ago, my father listed himself as a signer on the documents.
That move had been necessary at the time, since after she’d been with Bobby, Kitty’s credit rating had been stuck somewhere in financial quicksand. Like it or not, Owen still had access to her accounts, and ATMs left paper trails. He’d know she’d used this machine and where it was located. Besides, Kitty wouldn’t have been surprised if Owen had already closed the account, tightening the net that would force her and Adam back to Richland. She squeezed her eyes closed for a minute and drew a deep breath. She should have anticipated this problem.
Adam waited for an answer, so she repeated, “We can’t get cash this way, but, Adam, don’t worry...”
He shook his head. “I know. You’ll think of something.” He walked toward the store entrance. “I’m going inside.”
Grateful he’d dropped the subject, Kitty watched him go. “I’ll meet you here after I buy your breakfast.” She dug a few precious dollar bills from her pocket. “Remember to locate the pay phones. But don’t use one,” she hollered after him. When she spoke to Bette, she’d have to ask her to wire money. She knew her mother’s cousin had it to lend, but it wouldn’t make asking any easier.
Kitty walked toward the outdoor market and considered the selections and how much each cost. She figured five hundred from Bette ought to cover the cost of truck repairs and gasoline. With any luck, she and Adam would be back on the highway and driving east to Charlotte by the afternoon.
She bought two blueberry muffins, a banana and orange juice for Adam, and a cup of coffee for herself. Then she stood in the parking lot, feeling the warmth of the morning sun, and the renewed confidence that comes from having a solution. She’d just swallowed a generous swig of coffee when a sudden commotion at the entrance to Value-Rite made the coffee percolate in her empty belly. It couldn’t be.
It was. Adam was streaking across the parking lot, dodging cars, people and baby strollers. His arms were wrapped tightly around the elastic waist of his Tampa Bay Buccaneers jacket. And huffing and puffing, but steadily gaining on him, were two uniformed security guards.
Kitty dropped her paper cup, gripped the brown bag that held Adam’s breakfast and ran toward the chase, which was now drawing a crowd. By the time she reached Adam, a security guard had his arm around her son’s chest. He held Adam above the pavement