Daddy’s Girl
Thursdays were trash days. Elizabeth knew this the same way she knew the library closed at five and the community yard sale was the highlight of the fall. It was all in the letter.
“Dear New Resident,” it began. “Welcome to Harpeth Springs, Illinois, one of the safest cities in America.”
Safe. Would she ever feel safe again? Even in her garage, eight hundred miles from Paul Chandler and the nightmare of the past year, waves of panic rose inside her, ready to swallow her like water over a drowning castaway. A new city, a new address, and she’d yet to venture beyond the threshold of the small, one-story ranch she was now calling her “safe house.”
But she wasn’t safe. She was sequestered. The only way to be safe was to learn to live again — out there. Across the dark room, the garage door waited, outlined in a thin rectangle of light. Cold seeped through and crawled over her bare ankles. Before she lost her nerve, she closed her eyes and pushed the button. She waited a moment, then tried again. Finally, she opened her eyes.
“Come on, come on.” Fear turned to frustration as she struck the pad, first with her finger, then with her fist. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The door mocked her. Are you sure?
“Yes, I’m sure,” she yelled at the door and the garage full of boxes. “Now open up, you stupid piece –”
With a jolt, the metal door climbed. Elizabeth’s eyes slowly adjusted to the light as she greeted the world for the first time in days. Fresh air brought the scent of memories, memories of a better time, of a safer time.
Inhale. Exhale. This time she would do it. It was time to take out the trash.