Free Remember to Forget by Deborah Raney Page A

werecarefully constructed, and Maggie could tell they’d once been varnished to a sheen, though now they showed signs of being left to the elements. There was evidence on the ground around the monuments—dried flower petals and a bit of tattered sun-faded ribbon—that someone had tended them at some point. Like a grave. Someone’s pets, perhaps? Or did they denote the scene of a fatal accident? She shivered and climbed back up to the road.
    At the next intersection, she turned west again. The road was asphalt-paved for half a mile or so, then turned to gravel and sand. As she stopped to shake a pebble out of her shoe, it struck her that, for the first time all summer, she had put her tennis shoes on before she left the apartment in New York that fated morning. Tennis shoes and socks. A little chill snaked up her spine at the fluke. What if she had been wearing her flip-flops the way she usually did when she went out on a quick errand? As it was, she could almost feel the blisters raising on her heels. If she’d been in sandals, her feet would have been torn to shreds. She’d never have made it this far on foot.
    She trudged on, her muscles aching with the effort of the miles. The utter silence was broken by a murmuring whoosh whoosh as she came upon wheat fields on either side of the road. The bushy stalks danced with the breeze, an ocean of golden waves rolling around her as far as she could see. She had never experienced such space! It made her feel small. Yet an odd sense of freedom had started to well up in her chest.
    The sunlight ebbed further and shadows of memory clouded her thoughts . . .
    Kevin, telling her she couldn’t have coffee with the sweet woman who lived in the apartment next door.
    Kevin, ordering her what to make for supper, how he wanted it cooked, and what time he wanted it served.
    Kevin, forbidding her from taking a job.
    Kevin, making her step on the bathroom scales every morning, and putting her on a diet if she gained half a pound. She’d always tried tocount her blessings that she had a personal trainer of sorts.
    Now, out here in this wide-open territory that seemed like a foreign country, her brain seemed to clear, and the truth of her situation unfolded like a clearly marked map. How had she ever allowed herself to come under his control? What was it about him . . . ?
    She stopped dead in the road, stirring up little whirls of dust around her feet. No. That was the wrong question. What was it about her ? That’s what she should be asking.
    She plodded on another mile, weariness almost overpowering her. She came to a little turnoff in the road that led to a fenced pasture. Slumping against a pale stone post, she rested for a while before hauling herself up again. The road ahead of her was covered by a canopy of trees, leafy branches entwined overhead. They rustled as the wind picked up. The tunnel they formed was almost pitch-black inside, reminding her that night would fall in a few minutes. She quickened her pace. It wouldn’t be good to be caught out here after dark.
    As if to confirm that thought, an eerie howl split the quiet evening. It was probably some farmer’s dog, but a sign a few miles back, before she’d turned off the main road, had said it was twenty miles to Coyote. She didn’t want to think about how that town got its name.
    The last crescent sliver of sun slipped below the prairie and, as if the sunset had triggered some switch, a chorus of insects started in. Cicadas? Crickets? She didn’t know, but within seconds, their chirrup chirrup rose to an earsplitting crescendo.
    Maggie walked on. She didn’t know what else to do.
    After exiting the canopied mile, she looked up. The sky overhead was inky black, but that only showed off the pinpoints of light to better advantage. She traced the Big Dipper, amazed at how clearly it was outlined in the Milky Way. She had seen starry displays like this in the movies, but she’d always assumed they were achieved