Just what was she thinking? Running away from her troubles, from her husband’s sudden bad name, yes that was all true, but how was she going to do it? There had been a plan, but a weak plan, and it had mostly come off way too spontaneous, Elizabeth deciding that it was now or never and her friends had gone along with it, given her the help she needed, and now here she was, her baby asleep in the backseat, the rising sun shining down on his head, and what were her friends going to say when she had no choice but to return? But she couldn’t do that—she just couldn’t—and so she kept driving west, across the state, glancing in her rearview mirror every minute certain that a state trooper would appear, the cruiser’s lights flashing. By now someone would know she was gone—the police, the FBI, the media—and word would spread quickly, and an APB would be put out for her like she was a fugitive, a criminal, which she guessed she now was because she was on the run. Then again, what if nobody noticed or even cared? The first week was the hardest.
