Miles From Home

By Ava Bell

Six months after the death of her mother, twenty-one-year-old Maggie Taylor is just trying to get through each day when she is offered a coveted spot at a prestigous dance school in New York City. Knowing her father will not approve of her plans, she packs her car and sets out on a journey that will leave her forever changed.

Twenty-one-year-old Sam Austin is tired of being stuck in a small town. Forced to deal with his father's alcoholism since his mother left eleven years ago. Sam has only ever found solace in his music and frequent one-night-stands. When Sam is presented with the opportunity to move to Chicago, he leaps at the chance, leaving town with only his guitar and backpack.

After Sam and Maggie arrive in a small Midwestern town they are forced to share the only room available. What starts as a simple inconvenience soon turns into a weekend of passion. A passion that will burn until they are reunited years later by a terrible tragedy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ava Bell
• Release date: Jan 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781502270047

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Miles from Home

Copyright © 2015 Ava Bell

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Cover: Lora Lynch of Dream Master Designs

Editor: Jill Hope Weinstein 

Formatting by Champagne Formats

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

For my mom.

AS I LOAD the last of my bags into my car, I turn to take one last look at the house I grew up in. It’s all I’ve ever known. I feel a twinge of sadness as I look at the large porch that’s lined with pots of flowers. I know I will miss it. I always felt safe here, as if nothing could harm me when I was within those walls, but I’m older now and I no longer need the security it once gave me. I put the key in the ignition and drive away trying hard not to look at it in the rearview mirror as it gets father and father away. Just 1,433 miles stand between me and my dream.

My life in Hearne, Texas, was as normal as any other kid growing up in a small town. My mom was always home when I came in after school, and we always ate dinner as a family at the table every night. The church was a huge part of my upbringing. My father is the Pastor of the First Baptist Church in Hearne and he always had high expectations of me as I got older. He expected the perfect preacher’s kid and I was, for the most part. My mother, on the other hand, was the opposite. She was the one who balanced everything out. She nurtured and loved me while my father was incapable of showing any emotions towards me. My mother always gave me the security I needed without all the ridiculous limitations my father felt were necessary. She was the one who started me in ballet at a very young age and watched as I fell in love with it. But my father never approved of the long hours and the private lessons. While I was attending Temple College, not far from home, my mom found out she had breast cancer. I watched her suffer for two years, but she insisted that I finish my education, six months ago she lost her battle. I was devastated. I graduated with my two-year degree in fine arts and four months ago I received a letter of acceptance to the very prestigious Barnard School of Dance in New York City. I never told my father about my plans to move to New York because I knew he would never approve. That’s why I left him a letter, which he will find when he returns from his weekend conference on Sunday.

739 miles later, I’m sitting on the side of a country road in the middle of nowhere. I knew I should have paid better attention to the check engine light that was periodically flashing at me, as my car sputters to a stop. I can’t imagine what could be wrong, since I just had my car serviced two days ago. So now what? I could sit here and wait for a car to come by, but that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen anytime soon. I could start walking back towards the interstate and hope that someone will stop and call AAA for me, but neither option sounds good, so I wait. I’ve been sitting here for over an hour and not one car has passed by. I check my phone periodically but it still shows no cell service.

Sam! Hurry up! I hear my sister yell from downstairs. Your bus leaves in an hour and it takes forty-five minutes to get there.

Hold on, I say. I hurry down the stairs to find my often impatient sister Karen standing by the front door with her hands on her hips.

We have plenty of time with the way you drive, I say to her and she smiles. I walk into the living room to say goodbye to my dad. I sigh when I see that he’s started drinking earlier than normal.

Dad, I’m leaving now, I say. Okay, Sam, have a safe trip, he says, without looking up.

Come on, let’s go. He’ll be okay. He’s just having a bad day, Karen says, as we walk out to the car.

I throw my backpack and guitar case in the trunk. I look over at Karen and notice she looks sad. I hate when he’s like this. It makes me feel guilty, I say, getting in the car.

Sam, you can’t hang around this town forever taking care of him. You have a life to live, Karen says, driving towards the city.

Karen is quiet for most of the drive to the bus station, but as we get closer I can tell that she’s going into mother mode. At least that’s what I call it. For the last eleven years of my life, Karen has been the only stable person in my life. Being five years older than me, she felt it was her job to make sure I was fed, clothed, and stayed out of trouble after my mother walked out on us. I was ten when she decided that she needed more than what my father could give her, so she up and left one day while Karen and I were at school and dad was working. We were just a typical family. Mom taught second grade and dad was a construction supervisor. We were always involved in school activities and sports. Mom and dad would take turns shuttling us to our various practices. I played baseball and took guitar lessons while Karen played soccer. Things looked so normal on the outside but I could feel the tension between them more and more. My dad took it the hardest; he just basically gave up and started drinking on a regular basis. Karen and I were forced to quit sports but I continued my guitar lessons. It’s the one thing I wasn’t willing to give up.

Sam, I want you to promise me you will get a cell phone as soon as you get to Chicago, Karen says.

Karen, you’ve been telling me that for the last two weeks. Even though I hate those things, I promise I’ll buy one as soon as I can, I tell her, nudging her shoulder.

She tries hard not to laugh and looks at me out of the corner of her eye. You’d better. It’s my only way of getting a hold of you, she says.

We pull into the bus station with twenty minutes to spare. Karen hugs and kisses me and I tell her goodbye. As I’m walking away I turn to see that she is crying, and I have to force myself to keep walking. There is no turning back.

As I board the bus, I look for a seat towards the back. I find two seats together that aren’t taken so I throw my guitar case in the empty seat and slide my backpack under it. I lean my head against the seat and I stare out of the window. The bus gets farther and farther away from Oklahoma and I feel sad but excited that I’m finally doing something on my own.

Two months ago my cousin Ryan called me to tell me about the bar he had bought in Chicago, and I jumped at the chance when he asked me if I would be willing to move there and help him out. He said he needed someone he could trust, and he also mentioned that I could do a few sets a week playing my guitar and singing. I had been working at the Ford dealership for the past three years detailing cars. The pay wasn’t great but I managed to save most of my paycheck each week, since I knew that someday I would leave. The timing was perfect.

I suddenly wake up when an older lady shakes my arm. She tells me that the bus is stopping at a travel center shortly. We can get off, stretch our legs, and get a snack if we want. I’m definitely all for that; I must have been asleep for a few hours and I’m hungry. Most of the passengers get off and head into the store, so I pick up my backpack and guitar and follow them in. I get a large bottle of water and a bag of chips. Then I check out the magazine rack. I grab the latest issue of Guitar Player and stand in the cashier line. Several minutes pass before I realize the woman in front of me is taking her time picking out lottery tickets, scratching each one off as she buys them. As I look out the window I see the bus is pulling away. The bus I was just on. I run out screaming and waving my arms hoping to catch someone’s attention, but it drives away and leaves me behind. FUCK! I can’t believe the fucking bus just left me! I yell, kicking at the gravel as dust sprays up around my feet.

I walk back into the store and ask where the nearest bus station is. There’s a town about eight miles east of here called Hermann, Missouri. They have a bus station, the cashier says. I pay for my water, plus an extra one for the road, along with my chips and magazine. Then I head towards Hermann. I’m no stranger to walking, but it’s the middle of the afternoon and the sun is beating down on my back. The longer I walk the heavier my backpack and guitar get, but I figure if I keep up with a good pace, I can make it there in three hours.

AFTER SITTING HERE for thirty minutes I try starting my car again, but still nothing. So, here I sit, in my car, thinking and contemplating my next move when something catches my eye in the rearview mirror. A figure is walking towards my car. My first thought is excitement. Yes! Finally, someone who may be able to help me, but my excitement is quickly replaced with panic. I’m in the middle of nowhere and this person could be a rapist or worse; a serial killer. Okay, Maggie, I say to myself. Get it together and stay calm. Just stay in the car with the doors locked." As the person gets closer, I can tell it’s a guy, and he looks to be about my age. As he makes his way around to pass the driver’s side, I quickly pick up my phone and act like I’m texting someone. I’m not sure I want to make eye contact with him before I have the chance to size this guy up.

Tap . . . tap . . . tap. I jump as he peers into my window. Crap! What do I do? I can’t ignore him, since that would be rude and I don’t want to open my door to a stranger. I crack the window slightly so I can hear him. Are you okay? he asks. As I look at him closer I can see that he is about my age. He doesn’t look like a rapist or serial killer, but then again I’m not sure I would even know what one would look like.

"Umm . . . hi, yes, I’m okay. I’m just not sure if my car is. My check engine light came on while I was driving on the interstate so I took the nearest exit hoping to find a gas station. As you can see, no gas station, so I’m kind of stuck."

He smiles and says, Well, maybe I can take a look at it. Did it just die? Maybe you are out of gas. Out of gas! Ugh, that makes me mad. Why do guys think women are so helpless and they wouldn’t know if they were out of gas?

No, I’m not out of gas, I just filled the gas tank an hour ago. He can tell I didn’t like his comment.

I know a little about cars, but I’m not real familiar with Hondas, he says.

I watch him walk to the front of the car as he motions for me to pull the latch to open the hood. I can see him checking the engine through the small slit where the hood and car meet. I faintly hear him tell me to try starting the car so I turn the key: click . . . click . . . click . . . nothing. He comes around to my window and sets his backpack and guitar case down. That’s when I notice his muscular build. I think it might be your thermostat, he says. Did you notice your temperature gauge getting hot? Thinking to myself, I really don’t remember even looking at the temperature gauge.

"No, I don’t think I was even paying attention to it. The only thing I noticed was the check engine light and it kept flashing," I tell him.

Oh, there it is; that little smirk all men give women. It’s as if he’s saying, It’s okay, sweetie. You’re just a woman. How would you know anything about cars? I watch him turn as he goes back around to the front of the car. I decide I’m going to get out and take my chances. Besides, that look he gave me is making me feel like I’m nothing but a naïve little girl. I push the unlock button and step out into the searing heat. It must be at least ninety degrees outside, so I look at my watch and I’m surprised to see it’s late in the afternoon. The last time I looked at the time, it was just a little past noon, and that’s when I first noticed the red flashing check engine light. Damn, I should have paid more attention. I scold myself internally for this mistake. He’s leaning up against the front of my car as I come around.

Do you think you can get it started? I ask.

I’m not sure, but maybe if we let it cool off it may start. If it does start though I’m not sure how far you will get before it heats up again, and you don’t want to drive it while it’s hot. It will damage the motor and then you are definitely screwed, he says, lowering the hood and pushing it closed. Let’s just wait about an hour and it should be cooled down enough by then to try it again. He picks his things up and walks over to a small grassy area under a large shade tree. I follow him, just stopping long enough to grab my cell phone and keys from my car. We both sit quietly in the shade. He pulls two bottles of water from his backpack and offers me one. It’s not very cold, he says, but it’s better than nothing.

I smile and say, Thank you, but I don’t want to take your water. He smiles and insists I take it anyway.

Taking in my surroundings, I notice the paved road is lined with lots of huge trees and wildflowers are growing everywhere. There’s a nice breeze and the sound of birds chirping make this road a little less scary than it seemed a few minutes ago. I turn and hold out my hand. Hi, I’m Maggie Taylor. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier, but I was a little stressed out.

He takes my hand and shakes it. Hi, Maggie. I’m Sam, Sam Austin.

Nice to meet you, Sam. Are you from around here?

Sam shakes his head while he takes a drink from his water bottle. No, I’m from Oklahoma, and you must be from Texas. He sees the puzzled look on my face and adds, I noticed your car tag.

I smile and nod. Oh, yep, I’m a Texas girl, I say, finishing my water.

I turn to Sam and notice that he’s lying back with his head rested on his backpack with his eyes closed. This gives me the opportunity to check him out a little more. He looks like an average guy; blue jeans, black t-shirt, and tennis shoes. His short brown hair falls nicely around his face with just a little curl on the ends. I can tell by his deep golden tan that he must spend a fair amount of time outside. Thinking to myself, I wonder why a nice looking guy like him is traveling on foot. Is he running from something or someone? Suddenly he opens his eyes and catches me staring at him. That’s when I see his eyes. Oh wow! They are crystal blue, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes like his: beautiful. I smile and look away totally embarrassed. Let’s see if your car will start, he says. I jump up and head for the car. I hop in the driver’s seat and wait for Sam to give me the okay to turn the ignition. The engine starts after a few tries and I clap with excitement.

Alright, there you go, Maggie, but as soon as you find a gas station or a garage, you need to stop and have it looked at. You don’t want it to overheat again. There’s a town not too far from here. It shouldn’t be more than four or five miles.

I smile and tell Sam, Thank you.

Just as I start to pull out onto the road, I suddenly realize that it would be so rude of me not to offer him a ride. I feel fairly comfortable giving him a lift, considering it’s only a few miles up the road. It’s the least I could do. I roll down the window just as he’s walking away and I yell. Sam, would you like a ride? You are headed in the same direction, aren’t you? He stops walking and turns around to walk back towards the car.

Are you sure? I mean, I don’t mind walking, but yeah, that would be great. I stop the car and put it in park. Of course not. I’ll pop the trunk so you can put your stuff in there.

He climbs into the passenger side seat and flashes me a huge smile as I pull back out onto the road, and I suddenly feel my face blush.

Trying to break the silence, I reach over and turn on the radio and search for a decent station. What kind of music do you like? he asks, as I flip through the stations. Nothing but country songs.

I take it you don’t like country. Sam shakes his head when he laughs and I feel a slight blush come over my face. Sam finds a station that we both seem to agree on; 80’s Hits. I tap