Clancy Threckenstall clicked his false teeth and clucked his disapproval like an old, wet hen. Zinnia kept right on brushing her curls and ignored him. The humidity was high today, as usual. Zinnia faced what seemed an insurmountable task: trying to tame her curly mane of tresses. At the moment, it looked like frizz would be the runaway winner in this contest.
She wondered what a small cabin would be going for in Montana. One of her male friends had mentioned the cool, clean air and the incredible mountain scenery.
Maybe California. Hollywood!
She'd like to be in the movies.
Or maybe Timbuktu.
Anywhere that wasn't such a bottomless pit of boredom. She wasn't going to be choosy as long as it was far, far from here and Clancy.
Funny.
A few months ago, she couldn't wait to make her way back home to Mississippi, become invisible, and forget her past, but now, the passage of time had healed her wounds a bit.
Her physical ones, anyway.
And though it was hard to imagine, her emotional and mental wounds were starting to scar a little, too. She even felt a tiny amount of her old spunk starting to rear its head. She yanked at a particularly fierce tangle and grunted. It might be fun, tonight.
Fun.
After what Robbie had put her through, Zinnia never thought she could ever feel that emotion again.
Zinnia's shock and pain were slowly turning into anger. The good kind, not the self-destructive kind that wrecks havoc and ruin on the mortal soul.
It was o.k. to feel mad about what Robbie had done to her, she told herself, because it helped her fight the 'what can I do, I am just a victim' way of thinking. Anger allowed her to get up off the floor of self-pity, brush herself off, and get on with her life.
I can and will fight back, Zinnia told herself. I will not allow myself to wilt under a cloud of hopelessness. I will not let you beat me, Robbie. Damn your soul to eternal blazes where it belongs.
You are a bastard, but you still haunt me. You will not take over my life again. I refuse to let you. You're dead. Leave me alone.
I'll survive my broken heart, glue together the shattered pieces, and move on. You won't win, Robbie. I won't let you."
YOU ARE READING
Five Miles to Paradise
Historische RomaneEvil lives in the back woods and swamps of the Deep South. From the dark corner of a decadent plantation mansion to the soggy decay of a one-room swamp shack, it breeds and festers, grows and blooms. It lies in the recesses of small town ignorance a...
