Part Four: Wyoming – Running
The dashed white lines blur together into one fuzzy one that seems to extend beyond the horizon. Town after town speeds past. The thinks she's in Montana, but she's not sure and is enjoying herself too much to stop and check. She's burning rubber and time and distance, and it feels good; his face is not as distinct in her mind this morning as it was the morning before.
His memory is not vapor - not yet. He still appears to her occasionally as a specter. Late yesterday his voice was the DJ's on the radio; the night manager at the cheap roadside motel had his shuffling walk. The blue stone is still in her pocket.
He is everywhere, here.
She stops at a convenience store to refuel, use the bathroom, and buy some supplies: mineral water, wheat thins, postcards, and a "Little Tree" car deodorizer that smells like vanilla.
She chooses her postcards carefully. Catherine and Lindsey get a very feminine card, flowers in a meadow. The message is very short, succinct, in handwriting as neat as she can bother herself with:
Cath and Lindsey –
Its beautiful here – quiet and peaceful. I think the two of you would like it.
Be home soon!
- Sara
Warrick's was a snow-capped mountain, deep, cool, and placid, sort of like him. Her message to him is superficial, solely about the job. She doesn't understand why, but she doesn't want to say anything more to Grissom's favorite CSI.
War –
No d.b.'s here. Getting bored. Kidding!
See you soon.
- Sara
Greg's was tacky and loud, and she smiled when she saw it. It featured a stuffed jackalope wearing hunting garb, carrying a tiny rifle.
Greg –
Rejoice, for I have bought you a postcard.
-Sara
Nicky's postcard was a smooth lake, with all the surrounding landscape reflected in it. She guessed that Nick would read as much from the front of the postcard as he would from the back. She hoped so. There was only so much she could fit in a 3" square. There was even less that she could say that would explain how she felt.
Nicky –
Can't seem to get away, no matter how far or how fast. But getting better.
Love,
Sara
She mails them from a box outside the convenience store. She wonders if they will mention their postcards in the lab when they receive them.
She wonders if he will feel anything when he doesn't get one.
Surely not.
That evening, she reaches the border. NOW LEAVING WYOMING, the sign reads. A mile later, another sign welcomes her to Montana.
"I have no idea where I am," she says to the empty road, the vanilla "Little Tree", and the tired air in her car, "but he's here."
She wills herself to outrun him.