The Runaways

Chapter 32 (Part 2)

Hailey

          Georgia looked right at home in the driver’s seat of her cherry-red Dodge idling in the driveway. How a lady no bigger than five feet could see over the dashboard was beyond me, but Georgia seemed like the type who could drive a tank if she put her mind to it. I stepped off the porch and winced at the occasional jabs of gravel poking up into the thin rubber of Caleb’s shoes. Georgia waved me over, and reached out to pull me into the truck after I’d tried and failed to get in on my own.

            “You can go ahead and move that blanket there to the back. That’s Huck’s, he’s sure to be worn out after running around all night.”

I put Huck’s hand-stitched throw next to his crate as Georgia inched down the driveway. Quiet worries wore away at her face while she drove, and made me wonder what it was like to love a dog that much. Neither of my parents were pet people. Stuffed toys were the closest I’d ever gotten to having an animal.

Georgia’d been so scared for Huck last night that she’d risked her own safety just to look for him. Looking back, it was good we ran into her when we did, otherwise she would’ve spent the night by herself in that big old house. As tough as she was, no woman in the world is okay with being that lonely.

            “You know, I’ve had Huck for ten years,” she said.

            “Really?”

            “Yes ma’am. My husband, Dean, called me one afternoon when he was in town sayin’ he found a little huntin’ dog runnin’ around the junkyard. He didn’t know what to do with him at first, so I told him to bring Huck home for a night and we’d take him to the shelter in the mornin’. But Huck kept us up ‘til 3:00 AM howlin’ ‘til we let him sleep in our room, and we knew after that he’d make for a better part of our family than anyone else’s. He’s a good dog, wild, but a good one.” 

I wanted to say something, I wanted to tell her I understood what it was like to love something or someone so much that even their memories made you whole, but I’d never really felt like that. I flashed her a paper mache smile, a thick and plastered excuse to cover the creeping feeling that I was missing bits and pieces of life that other people treasured.

Georgia read the silence, like she knew I couldn’t do anything else but hide behind it, and switched on the radio.

The sun had risen just high enough to start showing through the trees. It was crazy seeing how the northern Virginia woods could look like a different world the day after a storm. All the bark on each pencil thin pine, oak, or poplar tree had turned dark grey in the rain.

The contrast made the leaves pop out across the skyline like little green four-leafed stars scattered all over. It was strange thinking that hardly anyone had touched the land here, that the trees were so many years older than I was, and not a skyscraper, monument, or office building would be in sight for miles.

You couldn’t find this kind of beauty in D.C. anymore.

The closest things to something authentic were the public parks, and designated trails the government made a point to preserve. But even with those places, I never felt as at home in Washington as I did out here. Driving through the heart of these woods, somewhere miles off from highways or landmark cities, I figured out the difference.

Country roads, stocked with miles and miles of trees, ruts, and rivers, never changed or asked anyone passing through to change for them. I could figure myself out here, without the nonsense of fancy suburbs, or pricey private schools, to tell me who to be. As far off the map as I’d wandered, I couldn’t have felt better about losing my way.