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egan to recede into the distance, gray and cold. Her lower back
ached as the bus rolled forward, miles from home. Snow
continued to fall and cars whipped up slush as they passed the
bus.
She wished she could talk to someone. She wanted to tell them
that she was running away because her husband beat her and that
she couldn’t call the police because he was the police. She wanted
to tell them that she didn’t have much money and she could never
use her real name again. If she did, he would find her and bring
her home and beat her again, only this time he might not stop. She
wanted to tell them that she was terrified because she didn’t know
where she was going to sleep tonight or how she was going to eat
when the money ran out.
She could feel cold air against the window as towns drifted past.
Traffic on the highway thinned and then the roads became
crowded again. She didn’t know what she was going to do. All
her plans had stopped at the bus and there was no one to call for
help. She was alone and had nothing but the things she carried
with her.
An hour from Philadelphia, her cell phone rang again. She cupped
the phone and talked to him. Before he hung up, he promised to
call her before he went to bed.
She arrived in Philadelphia in the late afternoon. It was cold, but
not snowy. Passengers got off the bus and she hung back, waiting
for all of them to leave. In the restroom, she removed the duffel
bag and then went into the waiting room and took a seat on a
bench. Her stomach was growling and she sliced off a little cheese
and ate it with crackers. She knew she had to make it last, though,
so she put the rest of it away, even though she was still hungry.
Finally, after buying a map of the city, she stepped outside.
The terminal wasn’t located in a bad part of town; she saw the
convention center and Trocadero Theater, which made her feel
safe, but it also meant she could never afford a hotel room in the