Free Potter Springs by Britta Coleman

country soon.
    They hadn’t spoken much since The Big Talk. The one where Mark laid out possibilities for their future, plans that included
     leaving Houston, her job and her family for a new position at a rinky-dink church in the middle of nowhere.
    Maybe it was the painkillers, but his vivid descriptions about the high plains and the wide, open spaces had worn her down.
     That old connection tugged at her. Her lover, her mate, imploring when reason argued otherwise. She’d never been reasonable
     when it came to Mark, just instinctual. Stepping in time to his music, naturally matching the rhythm of his heart.
    And now, when her own heart beat slower, duller, wrapped in a cloak of pain, she simply trusted him. To make the decisions
     when, for her, rising out of bed seemed a daunting task. They would go to Potter Springs, together.
    Just the two of them.
    Like it used to be.
    Somewhere south of nowhere, an eighteen-wheeler lay flat on its side like a vanquished Goliath, felled by the mighty invisible
     wind. Sparkly blue paint shot reflections as they passed. The trucker stood alongside the rig, scratching his head.
    “Should we pull over?” Amanda stared as they whizzed by.
    “No, a cop’ll be along any minute. He’s got a radio for help. And we’re supposed to be in Potter by dinner.”
    Sure enough, the next mile brought the flashing lights of a state trooper.
Probably by now,
Amanda thought,
another trucker was already there.
She hoped so anyway. The man looked so lost.
    “How much farther?” she asked, even though she could see for herself on the map.
    “Not too much,” Mark answered. “A few more hours, after we stop for gas.”
    She bent over to find her flip-flops, feeling a warm gush between her legs. She straightened and rubbed the small of her back,
     hoping with every hope in her body that Potter Springs would be the refuge she needed.
    A place to heal.
    POTTER SPRINGS, TEN MORE MILES , read the sign. Mark saw Amanda shift straighter in her seat. He snapped off the radio and rolled down the window, letting
     the town’s breath roll into the stagnant U-Haul.
    The minutes passed slowly, the landscape still yellow and flat. They rode in silence, with only the music of the rushing wind
     and the occasional roar of an oncoming car or truck. The road narrowed and dipped down, and the landscape turned greener on
     either side.
    He glanced at her to see if she noticed the green. Green, he knew, was important to her.
    WELCOME TO POTTER SPRINGS! announced a hand-painted placard with a cow on it. POPULATION 10,927. Tended shrubs grew at the base. No trash cluttered the embankments leading into town.
    They passed a few truck stops and twenty-four-hour coffee shops. In town, a sixties-inspired post office threatened to take
     off for outer space at any minute. Mark eased the U-Haul to a halt at a light in Potter Springs’ downtown square.
    Their new hometown.
    The courthouse, with red-brown brick and a towering steeple, dominated the four surrounding streets. Manicured trees and a
     statue of a man on a horse decorated the grassy area around the building.
    Slowly Mark circled the corners. An old movie marquee proclaimed two evening shows of last year’s blockbuster. In front of
     an ice-cream shop, customers lounged on wrought-iron chairs, visiting and swatting at flies. A mother shared a vanilla cone
     with her baby, pushing the stroller back and forth with her foot.
    An antique shop displayed a rusty tricycle and a wide-eyed doll in a wicker carriage. The banner overhead, DOWNTOWN MINI- ALL , had a faded place where the
M
for
Mall
must have been. As if the owner preferred the more inclusive title and left well enough alone.
    “Need anything?” Mark pointed to the eclectic store. “They’ve got it ‘all,’ ” he punned, hoping to cheer her with bad humor.
     Hoping she didn’t hate this small town on sight.
    This elicited a small smile from her. “No.”
    “Let’s do it then.” He turned down a long